


lil help from mah fRENDS (wan)

by blobfish_miffy



Series: i get high (with a lil help from mah fRENDS) [1]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: ANYWAY this is the most ridiculous thing ive written ever, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Chatting & Messaging, Crack, Drinking, Fluff and Crack, Friendship, Gen, George Harrison and Ringo Starr ship McLennon pass it on, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Out of Character, Smoking, Some Humor, Some Plot, Swearing, also a normal fic but still with chatting, background mclennon, george and ringo are tired and want to see them together, george harrison as the sarcastic piece of shit we're all in love with let's be honest here, it's not just a chatfic anymore, it's not supposed to be serious, john is in love and paul is oblivious, john lennon as the trolling arsehole we all know he'd be in modern times, paul mccartney as an exHAUSTED mother but also like adorable, probably, ringo starr as the most lovable motherfucker you've ever had the pleasure to read about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-01-01 12:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 60,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18334352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blobfish_miffy/pseuds/blobfish_miffy
Summary: -Ringo changed John Lennon’s name to Lemon-Ringo: sour ass bitchLemon: you know what that’s fairOr,Brian Epstein yeets our fab four into a group chat. Hilarity(hopefully) ensues.**McLennon pining starts in chapter 10.





	1. are we out of milk??

**_22:58_ **

**_Brian Epstein_ ** **made** **_“INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

**_Brian Epstein_ ** **added** **_John Lennon_ **

**_Brian Epstein_ ** **added** **_Paul McCartney_ **

**_Brian Epstein_ ** **added** **_Richard Starkey_ **

**_Brian Epstein_ ** **added** **_George Harrison_ **

 

_ Brian Epstein:  _ Go. Be the disgusting children you know you are

 

**_Brian Epstein left the chat_ **

 

_ John Lennon:  _ well that escalated quickly

_ George Harrison:  _ are we really disgusting children?

_ John Lennon:  _ yes.

_ George Harrison:  _ :(

_ Paul McCartney:  _ aw…

_ Paul McCartney:  _ only a little :D

_ George Harrison:  _ :((

 

**_Richard Starkey_ ** **changed his name to** **_Ringo_ **

 

_ Ringo:  _ god forbid someone finds out my real name

_ Ringo:  _ anyway this is cool, right? We can chill this way

_ John Lennon:  _ pls dont ever say chill ever again. its a disgustin word. disgUSTIN i tell ya

_ Ringo: _ … okay? fine? sure

_ John Lennon:  _ chill

_ John Lennon: _ :)

 

**_Ringo_ ** **changed** **_John Lennon_ ** **’s name to** **_Lemon_ **

 

_ Ringo:  _ sour ass bitch

_ Lemon:  _ you know what that’s fair

 

**_Paul McCartney_ ** **changed his name to** **_Macca_ **

**_Macca_ ** **changed** **_George Harrison_ ** **’s name to** **_Geo_ **

 

_ Macca:  _ fuck the formalities!!

_ Geo: _ cool

_ Geo:  _ anyway guys look at this cool fungus i found while scouring the internet out of sheer boredom

 

**_Geo_ ** **sent a screenshot**

 

_ Lemon:  _ wat the fuck thats disgusting

_ Geo:  _ YOURE disgusting

_ Geo:  _ but yeah that fungus is disgusting too

_ Geo:  _ it’s called “devil’s fingers” or “octopus stinkhorn”

_ Geo:  _ it apparently smells like putrid flesh

_ Ringo:  _ i could’ve lived without that knowledge

_ Geo:  _ yet i supplied you with it anyway :)

_ Macca:  _ georgie i know you love shit like this but this is EXACTLY what eppy meant with us being ‘disgusting children’

_ Geo:  _ pff. rude.

_ Lemon: _ i think that fungus might be the reason i’m not into tentacle porn

_ Macca:  _ oh my gOD

_ Ringo:  _  just,,,, JUST that fungus? JUST that?

_ Ringo:  _ there’s not anythin else off putting about tentacle porn, of all things?

_ Geo: _ HEY let the man have his fetishes, ritch

_ Lemon:  _ YEA

_ Geo:  _ if hes into obscure anime porn let him be

_ Lemon:  _ YEA

_ Geo:  _ and if my rotting flesh devil octopus mushroom managed to wean him off, then that’s great, right?

_ Lemon:  _ YEA

_ Lemon:  _ wait that was a jab at me wow geo go suck a dick ya git RUDE.

_ Geo:  _ at least i dont enjoy seein cartoon birds getting fingered by a fuckin octopus winnie

_ Macca:  _ pFFFFF

_ Ringo:  _ im enjoying this too much

_ Lemon:  _ you know what i deserved that one too

 

**_23:32_ **

_ Lemon:  _ are we out of milk

_ Geo:  _ idk check the cupboard

_ Lemon:  _ i did

_ Lemon:  _ theres none

_ Lemon:  _ so are we out of milk

_ Geo _ : your ability to draw conclusions from the smallest of clues never fails to amaze me

_ Ringo:  _ we’ve been out of milk since nine

_ Ringo:  _ but the shops close at nine so i havent had the opportunity to buy it

_ Lemon:  _ why the ufck are we out of milk??

_ Macca:  _ there’s almond milk next to the soup cans if i remember correctly

_ Lemon:  _ okay

_ Lemon:  _ so why the fuck are we out of milk????

_ Ringo:  _ ??? because we use milk???

_ Geo:  _ whydya need it anyway

_ Lemon:  _ bc i liKE MILK and i wanna eat cereal

_ Geo:  _ now?? 

_ Geo:  _ at this time and place??

_ Lemon:  _ did i fuckin stutter

_ Geo:  _ i thought i was the one who snacked at ungodly times

_ Macca:  _ use the goddamn almond milk lennon

_ Lemon:  _ wHY

_ Macca:  _ bc its fuckin MILK

_ Ringo:  _ hes got a point

_ Ringo:  _ i mean its in the name

_ Lemon:  _ FINE ALRIGHT jesus

 

**_Lemon_ ** **sent a picture**

**_Lemon_ ** **sent a picture**

 

_ Lemon:  _ it tastes weird

_ Macca:  _ sometimes i question why im attracted to you

_ Macca:  _ and then you send us selfies like this

_ Macca:  _ and i question my attraction even more

_ Geo:  _ nUT

_ Geo:  _ its nut

_ Geo:  _ milk

_ Geo:  _ n u t

_ Lemon:  _ joj this did NOT aid me in enjoying my cereal

_ Geo:  _ your nut milk cereal

_ Lemon:  _ my

_ Lemon:  _ my nut milk cereal

_ Lemon:  _ yes.

_ Ringo:  _ are we just gonna ignore Macca admitting being attracted to our local goblin

_ Geo:  _ who you?

_ Macca:  _ no you

_ Geo:  _ ;)

_ Macca:  _ ;)

_ Lemon:  _ w o w

_ Lemon:  _ keep the pda on the down low

_ Macca:  _ just enjoy ya nut milk cereal lemon boy

_ Ringo:  _ pfFFF

_ Geo:  _ you wish it were you, dontcha johnny

_ Lemon:  _ geo no offense but id rather kiss that octopus fungus of yours than you

_ Geo:  _ thats a big fuckin relief not gonna lie

_ Lemon:  _ :*


	2. geo is pauls favourite night dweller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geo: any of u lads reckon if weve got a place in the universe  
> Macca: its fuckin four am  
> Geo: yea but do you

**_group chat "INSECT CHILDREN"_ **

_4 online_

 

 

**_12:38_ **

_ Ringo:  _ Macca can you like stop playin piano at this time of night

_ Ringo:  _ ya pirates of the caribbean cover is really good but its not what a person can fall asleep to

_ Lemon:  _ imma be honest its hypin me the fuck up and thats not good if i wanna get at least 7 hours of sleep

_ Lemon:  _ which i really wont get at this rate

_ Ringo:  _ e x a c t l y

_ Macca:  _ :(

_ Macca:  _ but normally you love my cover of ‘’He’s a Pirate” :(

_ Lemon: _ yea luv but not at 1 in the mornin

_ Macca:  _ what do you want me to play then? Moonlight sonata??

_ Ringo: _ n o there’s a hype part in there somewhere n john cant handle that

_ Lemon:  _ yes :)

_ Macca:  _ then I’ll stick to the first movement!!

_ Geo:  _ heEEeEEy paulie whyd you stop????

_ Ringo:  _ whyd he start in the first place at half past twelve in the fuckin mornin

_ Geo:  _ cause its F U N  right macca

_ Macca:  _ geo is my favourite night dweller :)

_ Geo:  _ :)

_ Macca:  _ anyway i was bored

_ Macca:  _ just wanted to do something with my hands

_ Ringo:  _ thEN USE JOHN

_ Lemon:  _ not opposed to that if im bein honest

_ Macca:  _ john needs to sleep

_ Macca:  _ im not the one whos got the get out of bed at half past seven, thats you

_ Geo:  _ then play with yourself

_ Geo:  _ ;)

_ Macca:  _ i thOUGHT YOU LIKED TO LISTEN TO ME PLAYING

_ Geo:  _ oh i do but it was just right there and i couldnt just give it to john

_ Macca:  _ valid

_ Lemon:  _ valid

_ Ringo:  _ im here too you know

_ Geo:  _ yea i know but im saying i wouldve given it to you

_ Geo:  _ just not lemon boy

_ Lemon:  _ wow rude

_ Ringo:  _ thats so so fuckin sweet i nutted

_ Geo:  _ you have an awfully low bar for nutting Ritchie

_ Geo:  _ this is literally the equivalent for grabbing a spoon for you because youve forgotten

_ Ringo:  _ sue me for bein an appreciative person

_ Geo:  _ yes

_ Geo:  _ ill sue

_ Geo:  _ in fact, im suing right now

_ Geo:  _ youll be surprised at how much im suin you right now, its insane, enormous

_ Lemon:  _ with what money were dirt poor

_ Geo:  _ huuuUUUUUGE

_ Geo:  _ huge sue.

_ Geo:  _ @Lemon shhhhhhHUT UP

_ Macca:  _ jkalfd;a

_ Ringo:  _ haz no you know how much john likes to sound of his own voice

_ Macca:  _ HHFDAFAH

_ Lemon:  _ HEY

_ Lemon:  _ its true i do

_ Ringo:  _ okay now that’s finished maybe we can finally get some fuckin shut eye. GOODNIGHT

_ Lemon:  _ YES goodnight

_ Macca:  _ sleep tight ;)

_ Geo:  _ don’t let the bed bugs bite ;)

 

**_01:06_ **

_ Ringo:  _ james paul mccartney for the love of god and all things holy stOP PLAYING

_ Ringo:  _ and george haRRISON ARE YOU SINGING

 

**_03:54_ **

_ Geo:  _ any of u lads reckon if weve got a place in the universe

_ Macca:  _ its fuckin four am

_ Geo:  _ yea but do you

_ Ringo:  _ first it was the piano

_ Ringo:  _ then the 20 minute long conversation

_ Ringo:  _ then the piano AND singing

_ Ringo:  _ and now this???

_ Geo:  _ no but seriously do you know how tiny were are? how insignificant?

_ Geo:  _ there are billions upon billions of solar systems and suns and planets in the galaxy and were on one floating rock with seven billion other arseholes fuckin our way through life and thinking we’re entitled to answers and happiness while we’re?? just some sacks of meat with reasonable intelligence?? who enjoy blowing each other up and kicking the shit out of each other for social/cultural/religious differences and money and shits n giggles??

_ Geo:  _ its so fucked up

_ Geo:  _ there is literally no reason to believe weve got a purpose for living and being here and it scares the shit out of me

_ Lemon:  _ dear god georges havin an existential crisis at nineteen

_ Geo:  _ and you don’t?????

_ Lemon:  _ im twenty-one

_ Lemon:  _ so no

_ Ringo:  _ mister lemon’s got a point there

_ Ringo:  _ anyway since i know you wont shut the fuck up about this until weve spoken about it, better start being a philosophical fuck, huh?

_ Ringo:  _ i think we’re supposed to figure out our own purpose. our purpose is to be whatever the fuck we want our purpose to be

_ Macca:  _ i wholeheartedly agree

_ Lemon:  _  me 2

_ Ringo:  _ cool now thats solved lets go sleepy bye kay?? please??

_ Geo:  _ ITS NOT THAT SIMPLE

_ Macca:  _ IN WHAT WAY

_ Geo:  _ because i dont think it is

_ Lemon: _ thats the stupidest logic ever

_ Lemon:  _ geo pls i just wanna sleep and i need shuteye or im gonna be fuckn cranky the entire day

_ Geo:  _ then put your goddamn phone on silent and sleep arsehole

_ Lemon:  _ …. u know I hadn’t thought of that

_ Geo:  _ fuckin clearly

_ Lemon:  _ :(

_ Ringo:  _ gnight johnny!!

_ Lemon:  _ :)

_ Ringo:  _ yknow what george john might not be the only one who gets cranky bc of sleep deprivation

_ Ringo:  _ im suspecting that you, too, are victim to it

_ Geo:  _ god you think so??? really???? really ritch???

_ Ringo:  _ no need to be so sarcastic..

_ Geo:  _ but that’s EXACTLY my issue

_ Geo:  _ whats the need for us to be here? to act nice or to not act nice?

_ Geo:  _ whats our fuckin purpose??

_ Lemon:  _ our purpose is to shut the fuck up and go to sleep

_ Lemon:  _ kay now im done :)

_ Lemon:  _ love yall, sleep tight x

_ Macca:  _ <3

_ Geo:  _ night.

_ Ringo:  _ gnight again!!

_ Geo:  _ anyway to return to the topic at hand

_ Ringo:  _ i am unwilling.

_ Geo:  _ what the fuck is our purpose on earth

_ Geo:  _ are we just supposed to be born and fuck shit up while we’re here and then in due time just die, or like, that we aren’t supposed to do anything??? We’re just here bc of randomization of the galaxy or because some entity wanted to play the fucking sims???

_ Geo:  _ im seriously freaking out about it

_ Macca:  _ okay but why are you so worried about it anyway

_ Macca:  _ the fact that us being alive might not have a purpose in the context the universe or even the earth doesn’t mean that we don’t have a purpose for others

_ Macca:  _ like sure live for yourself and strive to make yourself happy and all that bullshit is true but humans are pack animals, we need social interaction and at the very least another being to keep us sane and content

_ Geo: _ you mean that we might be here for each other?

_ Macca:  _ yea!

_ Geo:  _ that… actually kind of makes sense

_ Geo:  _ and sort of calms me down now that I think about it

_ Ringo:  _ isn’t that basically what I said

_ Geo:  _ no you said “our purpose is whatever the fuck we want our purpose to be”

_ Geo:  _ its different

_ Ringo:  _ but SIMILAR

_ Geo:  _ anyway im glad our purpose on this floating rock is each other

_ Geo:  _ wouldn’t want to be here for any other ppl

_ Geo:  _ :)

_ Ringo:  _ don’t be cute and act like you weren’t just a gigantic arse

_ Macca:  _ aw you think he’s cute?

_ Geo:  _ :)

_ Ringo: … _

_ Ringo:   _ im going to sleep, goodnight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was fun again! :D as much as it was to write these, lmao


	3. tree tits?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lemon: you know  
> Lemon: when you put it like that it sounds bad  
> Lemon: but its just tough love  
> Lemon: im actually really sensitive

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_ 1 online _

 

**_07:39_ **

_ Lemon: _ i got around three hours of sleep and god, i have never wanted to die more

_ Lemon:  _ just let me perish and drift into the vast darkness of eternity

_ Lemon: _ i might get to sleep in

_ Lemon:  _ @Geo this is all ur fault

_ Lemon:  _ anD WE’RE STILL OUT OF MILK

_ Lemon:  _ @Ringo and thats ur fault

_ Lemon:  _ fuckin almond milk tasting like fuckin weird shit

_ Lemon:  _ sweet ass unnatural ass milk

_ Lemon:  _ @Macca AND ALMOND MILK IS UR FUALT

_ Lemon:  _ *fault

_ Lemon:  _ fuck.

_ Lemon:  _ gimme cow titty milk pls

_ Lemon:  _ how do u get milk from almonds anyway

_ Lemon:  _ how do u MILK almonds??

_ Lemon:  _ do almond trees have tits?

_ Lemon:  _ tree tits?

_ Lemon:  _ ugh i CANNOT believe im the only one whos gotta speak with eppy and martin

_ Lemon:  _ i wish u all will have to go through as much suffering as i am going through at this exact moment

_ Lemon:  _ go die.

 

**_08:28_ **

_ Lemon:  _ the bus is late god fucking dammit

_ Lemon:  _ its fuckin freezing

_ Lemon: _ im out of cigs

_ Lemon:  _ go die.

_ Lemon:  _ all of you

_ Lemon:  _ ill piss on the grounds ur forefathers walked on, spit in the crevices of ur ancestry, kick the shit out of ur racist grandpa,

_ Lemon:  _ oh wait the bus is here

_ Lemon: _ the driver just totally gave me the stink eye

_ Lemon:  _ the fuck does he want

_ Lemon: _ cant help it im not bald like u bitch

 

**_08:35_ **

_ Lemon:  _ ugh i hate that ur all still asleep im bantering with meself

_ Lemon: _ i cant even sit what the fuck

_ Lemon: _ its saturday and its not even 9 yet why is it so busy

 

**_08:44_ **

_ Lemon: _ god someone REEKS

_ Lemon: _ is this what hell is like

_ Lemon: _ have i died and gone to hell

_ Lemon: _ have my prayers been answered

_ Lemon: _ honestly to be honest i wouldnt be surprised if i had indeed died bc time feels like marmalade rn

_ Lemon:  _ HEY i found a mint in my pocket

_ Lemon: _ maybe im not in hell

 

**_09:15_ **

_ Lemon: _ kay so, first they want me to come into the office at an ungodly time

_ Lemon: _ and now ive been waiting for fucin 15 minutes

_ Lemon: _ i asked the receptionist where they were and she said they were out getting breakfast or some bullshit like that

_ Lemon: _ can you imagine being that rude

_ Lemon: _ pffffff they can go die

_ Lemon: _ and i chewed up my mint like twenty-five minutes ago so thats not going to well too

_ Lemon: _ fuck me

_ Lemon: _ oh wait there they are

_ Lemon: _ they look smug as shite wait eppy spotted me

_ Lemon: _ hes still smilin even tho im giving him my best glare

_ Lemon: _ aw they brought me a breakfast burrito

_ Lemon: _ this is way better than that stupid almond titty milk

_ Lemon: _ fuckin titty trees

_ Lemon: _ alright brian&george are gonna yell pray for me xxxx

 

**_10:24_ **

_ Ringo:  _ … so

_ Ringo _ : do almond trees have tits?

_ Geo: _ i-

_ Geo:  _ no

_ Geo:  _ no of course not

_ Geo:  _ why the fuck would ANY tree have tits

_ Ringo:  _ then how the fuck do you get almond milk

_ Geo:  _ soak almonds in water overnight, peel the skins off, put em in the blender and blend until smooth and then pour the blended almonds on a cheesecloth that’s draped over a jar or bowl or whatever and squeeze the milk out

_ Macca:  _ exactly

_ Macca:  _ almond tree titty milk without the titties.

_ Geo:  _ please never say that again

_ Macca:  _ what?

_ Macca:  _ almond tree titty milk?

_ Macca:  _ without the titties?

_ Geo: _ … y e s

_ Macca:  _ almond tree titty milk without the titties

_ Macca:  _ ;)

_ Geo: _ I just threw up a little in my mouth

_ Ringo:  _ gross

_ Ringo:  _ anyway ive gone out and bought some milk so we can have normal cereal now

_ Geo: _ we gotta finish the almond milk first

_ Ringo:  _ why

_ Geo:  _ idk

_ Geo:  _ we gotta

_ Macca:  _ yea we gotta

_ Ringo:  _ why we gotta

_ Lemon:  _ yea why we gotta

_ Ringo:  _ sourpuss is back! Sup

_ Lemon:  _ suuupp

_ Geo: _ bc we bought the almond titty milk so we’re gonna finish it and not waste it

_ Macca:  _ EXACTLY

_ Macca:  _ anyway what did george and brian want to talk about love?

_ Lemon:  _ :((( my behaviour

_ Macca:  _ yea i suspected as such

_ Macca:  _ but like what slice of it

_ Geo:  _ what slice of his behaviour? Is johns behaviour pie, macca? Is it pie?

_ Macca:  _ YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN

_ Lemon:  _ I do :)

_ Lemon: _ they just want me to be nicer to interviewers n stuff, because we’re not well known yet and a lot of the royalties we make goes into recording and concerts n stuff they said we cant risk me being an arse

_ Lemon:  _ which is bullshit bc im always very nice to the press

_ Geo:  _ thats a load of crap, you’re not even nice to us

_ Macca:  _ forget us, you’re not even nice to yourself

_ Lemon:  _ what im adorable to myself AND TO YOU LOT psh.

_ Macca:  _ one time you kicked a table bc you forgot to grab a spoon to eat your soup with and when I asked you why you said, and I quote, “I deserve the pain”

_ Lemon:  _ … ah

_ Geo:  _ one time you put chicken stock cubes in the showerhead and later after we went out and someone had barfed all over a drunk macca he went to take a shower and he came out in nothing more than a dirty towel bawling his fuckin eyes out bc he smelled like chicken noodle soup and it made him throw up

_ Geo:  _ and you laughed so hard you cried and made me clean it up bc ringo had passed out on the sofa and you were going ‘to help’ paul but when I was done cleaning and came downstairs you’d fucked off to wherever and paul was sleeping on a heap on the floor, still only wearing the fuckin towel

_ Lemon:  _ that was ONE instance and in my defence id passed out on the toilet so I couldn’t help him

_ Geo:  _ also during the first months after I joined the band you punched me in the face twice because you didnt appreciate the way I would smirk when you got a chord wrong

_ Geo:  _ even though you made fun of me for two weeks after one of my strings snapped and threw me in a ditch where sewer water of some houses is still deposited in

_ Lemon:  _ you know

_ Lemon:  _ when you put it like that it sounds bad

_ Lemon:  _ but its just tough love

_ Lemon:  _ im actually really sensitive

_ Macca:  _ yea my main man lennon will cry if you frown at him for too long

_ Ringo:  _ no he’ll just make a funny face and then cry in the privacy of his room

_ Lemon:  _ no on the toilet

_ Lemon: _ anyway i asked why they couldn’t just text me about it instead of dragging me out to the office on a saturday morning

_ Ringo:  _ you don’t need to tell us, i think we already know

_ Lemon: _ and they said that id just ignore the text and call the next interviewer a “good-for-nothing leech” so, yknow, valid

_ Macca:  _ are you in the bus rn though john?

_ Lemon:  _ yea im standing its full af

_ Macca:  _ cool can you pop by the shops and buy some tomatoes, garlic, cream, chilies, and whatever kind of pasta you like?

_ Lemon:  _ sure!

_ Geo:  _ why does he get to choose the type of pasta :(

_ Ringo:  _ cause he’s buying it

_ Geo:  _ fair

_ Lemon:  _ hah suck a djfdoa;

_ Geo:  _ a what

_ Macca:  _ a what

_ Ringo:  _ a what

_ Geo:  _ john?

_ Lemon:  _ a dick

_ Lemon:  _ god fuckin dammit the driver braked out of nowhere and i just flew through the entirety of the aisle and my phone ended up beneath some grandma’s seat

_ Lemon:  _ at least four(4) prepubescent teens started snickering as i lay flat on me face and two (2) more joined when i needed to crawl under the seats to get my damn mobile and buspass

_ Geo: _ god how I wish I was there to witness that

_ Lemon:  _ like shut up shiteheads ye mums ancient

_ Ringo: _ insult of the year

_ Lemon:  _ also apparently yalls behaviour towards interviewers is fine

_ Lemon:  _ especially geos

_ Geo: _ ofc it is I’m polite as shite

_ Macca:  _ you should write that down

_ Geo:  _ I should, huh?

_ Lemon: _ anyway tomatoes, cream, pasta and chilies right paulie?

_ Macca: _ and garlic

_ Lemon: _ we dont have garlic?

_ Ringo: _ I thought we had garlic

_ Lemon: _ see why do i have to get garlic if theres garlic

_ Lemon:  _ then we'll just end up with too much garlic

_ Macca:  _ just get the fuckin garlic lennon

_ Lemon: _ alrite alrite ill get the garlic

_ Lemon:  _ need i get some lemons too? Fish? Whatever?

_ Geo:  _ we’re out of apples and bananas

_ Ringo: _ maybe some crisps? brie?

_ Macca:  _ we’ve still got fish in the freezer

_ Macca:  _ and no lemons, you’re sour enough love

_ Lemon: _ <3

_ Macca: _ <3

 

**_Geo_ ** **sent a picture**

 

_ Geo:  _ you two are disgusting

_ Ringo: _ dear god that angle

_ Lemon:  _ AHAHAAH

_ Macca:  _ we’ve gained another “geo disapproves”-reaction image

_ Lemon: _ can i put this on my instagram

_ Geo:  _ maybe someday

_ Geo:  _ but get some fruit and some crisps if you don't mind, john

_ Ringo:  _ and some brie! I'm feeling cheesy

_ Lemon: _ …. ill see what i can afford

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this on mobile(also partially written on mobile) so not sure about if the layout looks odd. ANYWAY i hope this one was enjoyable too! Let's see if I can keep the fast updates up lmao x


	4. he looks eLEVEN

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geo: just don’t wake him up  
> Geo: god knows he needs his beauty sleep, the lad looked like a decaying corpse when he came back with the groceries  
> Macca: PFFFF  
> Macca: he did

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_ 3 online _

 

**_14:27_ **

_ Geo:  _ do we still have booze?

_ Ringo: _ idk?? we might, but i’m not sure

_ Geo:  _ can you check for me?

_ Ringo:  _ yeah sure whatever

_ Ringo: _ …

_ Ringo:  _ but why?

_ Geo:  _ why what

_ Ringo: _ why do you need to know?

_ Ringo: _ are you gonna be day drinking?

_ Ringo:  _ if so I’m in

_ Geo:  _ what?

_ Geo:  _ oh

_ Geo:  _ i’m at the shops and was wondering if we needed any alcohol

_ Macca:  _ we have one shot worth of vodka, we’re halfway through the gin & the malibu and the rum’s basically finished

_ Macca:  _ also we’re out of beer

_ Geo:  _ macca i thought you were at the library

_ Macca:  _ yea I am

_ Macca:  _ why

_ Ringo:  _ macca how the fuck do you know it that accurately I’m standing in the pantry rn and it’s exactly what you said

_ Geo:  _ ^ that

_ Macca:  _ i enjoy taking note of what we still have in the pantry

_ Geo:  _ you literally didn’t know for sure if we had garlic this morning

_ Macca: _ no i knew for sure

_ Macca:  _ you lot didn’t know for sure

_ Macca:  _ i do not take note of what’s in our pantry half-assedly son!

_ Geo:  _ that’s not at all kind of odd

_ Geo:  _ anyway beer, vodka, rum? that’s it?

_ Ringo:  _ i suppose

_ Geo:  _ no special requests? no wine? what does john want?

_ Ringo: _ john’s still unconscious and snoring loud af

_ Ringo:  _ i just went to the kitchen to get some water and it sounds like he’s sawing through logs

_ Ringo: _ i’m hearing it constantly now, can’t even concentrate on my movie

_ Macca:  _ pfff

_ Geo: _ turn up the volume mate

_ Geo: _ just don’t wake him up

_ Geo: _ god knows he needs his beauty sleep, the lad looked like a decaying corpse when he came back with the groceries

_ Macca:  _ PFFFF

_ Macca:  _ he did

_ Geo: _ anyway do we need snacks

_ Ringo: _ haz john bought two bags of crisps, one pack of biscuits and a shitload of fruit this morning how many more snacks do you need

_ Geo:  _ well i thought maybe we should go out tonight, since it’s saturday

_ Geo: _ and pregame at home cause like, alcohol is expensive

_ Geo: _ and snacks

_ Geo:  _ are needed

_ Ringo: _ we HAVE snacks

_ Macca: _ geo srsly if you get hungry and have devoured all the crisps just stuff a banana down ya throat

_ Geo: _ … :)

_ Macca:  _ don’t you dare

_ Geo: _ … :))

_ Macca:  _ doN’T YOU DARE

_ Geo: ... _ kinky ;)

_ Macca:  _ fucker

_ Macca: _ but apart from snacks maybe you should get some mixers? fanta, seven up, cola

_ Ringo:  _ yea i think we’re out of pop

_ Ringo: _ don’t see any in the pantry anyway

_ Geo:  _ cool i’ll get that

_ Ringo: _ i just ufking hit my head against one of the shelves when i got up

_ Geo:  _ pffffff

_ Macca:  _ are you okay??

_ Ringo: _ my eyes are tearing ffs

_ Lemon: _ mornin

_ Macca:  _ *afternoon

_ Geo:  _ the gremlin has risen

_ Lemon: _ i sure as fuck have

_ Lemon: _ ringo summoned me

_ Ringo: _ ??? no i didnt

_ Macca:  _ i thought geo told you not to wake him up

_ Geo: _ yea cause he’s ugly

_ Lemon: _ george i fuckin hate u

_ Geo: _ tough love

_ Lemon: _ i WILL choke u

_ Geo: … _ kinky

_ Macca:  _ asdfgjsjs GEORGE

_ Lemon:  _ @Geo ill whack ya on the bum with ur favourite guitar

_ Geo:  _ not gonna lie that turned me on a little bit

_ Ringo:  _ PFFFFFFFF

_ Macca: _ i am YELLING

_ Lemon: _ … ;)

_ Geo:  _ ;*

_ Lemon: _ ;)))

_ Lemon: _ anyway i woke up bc i heard a loud af thump and ringo screeching profanities

_ Macca:  _ when isn't he

_ Ringo: _ WOW true

_ Lemon:  _ but what is this talk i hear of us boozing up tonite??

_ Geo:  _ yea it’s saturday

_ Lemon: _ and?

_ Geo:  _ …. it’s saturday

_ Lemon:  _ thats why you wanna get hammered?

_ Geo:  _ yea?

_ Lemon: _ cool i’m all for it

_ Geo:  _ nice

_ Geo:  _ alright i’ll go pay

_ Macca: _ did you sleep well love?

_ Lemon: _ it was alright

_ Lemon: _ my back is killing me tho

_ Ringo: _ i mean you collapsed on the sofa at half past eleven and haven’t moved since

_ Ringo: _ it’s almost three

_ Ringo: _ you dropped the groceries beelined for the sofa, dropped yerself facedown and were out

_ Lemon: _ that might explain it

_ Lemon: _ but why didnt u move me? i woke up with a blanket

_ Macca: _ nah mate you were too peaceful

_ Macca: _ also you’re the heaviest and i can’t carry you on my own

_ Lemon: _ so geo and ritchie didnt want to carry me to bed??? rude

_ Geo:  _ FUCK

_ Lemon: _ yea thats right you were R U D E

_ Geo:  _ FUUUUUCK

_ Macca:  _ are you alright?

_ Geo:  _ i fukcing forgot my id

_ Geo:  _ she was scanning everything and at the vodka bottle she paused and was like can i see your id??? and lord fuck the blood drained from me face

_ Lemon:  _ AHAHAHAHAH

_ Geo:  _ it’s nOT FUNNY JOHN THEY'VE SET EVERYTHING ASIDE IM FUCKING EMBARRASSED

_ Lemon:  _ BUT IT IS

_ Lemon:  _ dear god i’m tearing up

_ Geo:  _ oh for FUCKS sake

_ Ringo:  _ but can't you just

_ Ringo: _ assure her you're legitimately nineteen

_ Geo:  _ richard have you looked at me

_ Geo:  _ like really looked at me

_ Lemon: _ HE LOOKS ELEVEN

_ Geo:  _ i look eleven

_ Ringo:  _ no you don’t?? you look like you’ve gone through puberty at the very least

_ Ringo: _ and you might be a bit too tall for an eleven year old

_ Geo:  _ the point is,,,, i look underage

_ Geo:  _ some bouncer once thought my id was fake

_ Macca: _ it’s true lenny and i were there

_ Lemon: _ and it was hilarious

_ Ringo: _ why didn't the bouncer think pauls id was fake then?

_ Ringo:  _ hes got more of a babyface than you

_ Macca:  _ HAHAH rude but right

_ Lemon: _ macca flirts his way inside

_ Lemon: _ he bats his pretty lashes once and the toughest of bouncers is putty in his hands

_ Ringo: _ ah ofc

_ Geo:  _ i know this might be asking for a bit much but can one of you grab my id and run to the store for me? so i can fucking pay??

_ Lemon: _ you know what sure

_ Ringo: _ sure!

_ Ringo:  _ where's your id mate?

_ Geo: _ omfg thanks so much

_ Geo: _ it's next to my laptop i think

_ Lemon:  _ k!

_ Ringo:  _ :) cool

_ Macca: _ well aren't you a lucky boy

_ Geo:  _ paulie i want to sink through the ground people are So judgemental

_ Geo:  _ the manager seems 3 seconds away from kicking me out god i can never come here again

_ Macca: _ it'll be fine geo

_ Geo:  _ ill have to solely go to the aldi now

_ Geo:  _ the nearest tesco is in the city centre thats way too far

_ Geo:  _ i can't fuckin alter between them anymore

_ Macca:  _ geo calm down

_ Geo:  _ i am calm!! i just wanna die.

_ Geo: _ please god let me sink through the ugly tiles of this overpriced supermarket right to the fiery depths of hell

_ Macca:  _ you'll be fine mate!! they don't kick people out because they haven't brought their id with them luv

_ Geo: _ you're right… bleh. I'm just bad with embarrassment i guess

_ Geo: ... _ wait

_ Geo:  _ who's bringing my id

_ Geo:  _ lads???

_ Geo:  _ lads who's bringing my id???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit short but!!! next chapter will include drunk texting. be prepared.  
> hope you enjoyed!!! xx


	5. ringo's gonna GET IT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geo: ritchie i’m gonna ufcking kill you  
> Geo: i’m gonna rip out your guts and use them to make guitar strings  
> Geo: holy fuck you're gonna fuckin get it

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_ 2 online _

 

**_14:52_ **

_ Geo:  _ ritchie i’m gonna ufcking kill you

_ Geo:  _ i’m gonna rip out your guts and use them to make guitar strings

_ Geo:  _ holy fuck you're gonna fuckin get it

 

**++**

 

Bloody cold, it was.

It could not have been warmer than 11 degrees celsius. It was raining - obviously, they lived in the fucking UK for God’s sake - and the wind was trying its best to blow George into the stream of incoming traffic.

George was in a bad mood. First of all, the bag carrying his groceries - honestly just a bottle of vodka, a bottle of rum, some one litre bottles of soda, and one bag of doritos - was fuckin’ heavy, and so was the beer crate clutched in his other hand. Second of all, John Winston ‘Arsehole’ Lennon was walking beside him, twirling his house keys round his index finger and whistling some tune George didn’t recognise. And John hadn’t even fuckin’  _ offered  _ to help carry the booze.

When he’d forgotten his ID he wanted to sink through the floor and be tortured for all of eternity in  _ hell _ rather than sit for another damn minute in that damn Tesco, trying to ignore the judgmental stares of the other shoppers to the best of his ability. But he couldn’t just walk off like a kicked puppy, and the stubborn streak he’d inherited from his father urged him to just ask if one of the lads could come over and bring his ID. Just to rub in it into the faces of that balding bitch of a manager and that poor, flustered sixteen-year-old cashier that he was  _ indeed  _ old enough to buy a goddamn, motherfucking bottle of vodka, even if he did look like a tall fourteen year old with a suspicious lack of acne.

And then John had sauntered in, smirk on his handsome face, both his own and George’s ID clutched between his long fingers. Fucking arsehole. The smirk widened into a grin when he obviously spotted George’s face grow even more sour at the sight of him, and plopped down next to him, throwing his free arm around George’s shoulders and raking his fingers through the mop of hair.

_ “Your saviour is here,”  _ John’d said with a wink, pulling affectionately at the younger boys locks before standing up.  _ “Alright, then, let’s buy some bloody booze, eh?” _

The manager had looked like he’d bitten in something bitter when George presented his ID with a deadpan expression and murder in his eyes, and slowly but securely started to personally pack up the groceries, eyeing the bottles with priggish look on his pudgy face. Beside him, George had felt John tense up at the distasteful glance of the manager, and had poked the other boy harshly in the side to snap him out of it. John had hissed venomously but did end up merely glaring at the manager for good measure as George inserted his debit card and typed in the pin code. John then had made a gigantic fucking show of walking away without making any moves at lending a hand and had strutted off into the direction of the automatic doors. George had thanked the manager despite his annoyance and wished both him and the cashier a good day before setting off as well, huffing at the weight of the groceries. It’d taken him a while to catch up with John - he’d refrained from running, knowing it might shake the beer too much - and had decided against taken an annoyed kick at John’s calf.

John’d refused to make any type of small talk, and George’d felt the same way; they were now almost at the apartment and they still hadn’t spoken, but there was still a burning question on George’s mind.

“Hey mate,” he mumbled, aching to put the groceries down for one second as John fumbled with the keys, sliding his thumb over the ridges. “Why did  _ you  _ bring my ID?”

John glanced sideways at him. His glasses sat askew on his nose as always and George focused on the fingerprint on the glass rather than his eyes, remembering the days they could make him shrink with one glare. It didn’t do much for him now - no, now his nonchalant glances were the ones inciting discomfort in  _ John  _ of all people - but sometimes, sometimes his friend’s sharp jabs still made him feel a little small.

John snorted, then, shaking George out of his thoughts, and shook his head with a small smirk on his face. The amused tilt of John’s mouth sparked annoyance in George’s chest and he frowned, curling his lips into a small grimace. _ “What?”  _ he spat, ready to set down the groceries and push harshly against John’s chest, as they always did when they got annoyed with each other.

“It’s just,” John started, pausing when they reached the door of their apartment building and working through the keyring to get the right one, “it’s just that I’m amused ya  _ didn’t  _ expect me.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“You really think I wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to fuck with ya?” John pushed the door open and stepped inside, waiting for George to follow. “You forgot your ID and were deemed too young by a cashier who’s  _ younger  _ than you. I wanted to see your face in person.”

George blinked. Wet his lips. Blinked again. Then-

“You motherfucker-”

John swiftly avoided George’s kick with a cackle and approached him carefully then, as if he were a flighty wild animal. “Come’n,” he then said with a smile and a twinkle in his eye, “let me take those beers.”

“Thank you,” George sighed in relief when the weight was taken off him, just as they started climbing the stairs. “That was heavy as fuck. Wouldn’t have been able to make it all the way up, would’ve died halfway like those hiking enthusiasts trying to climb Mount Everest.”

John barked out a laugh. “You’d have dropped the booze, and we can’t have that, now can we?” he winked with a cheeky grin, “precious cargo and all that shite.”

George shot him a halfhearted glare.

“ _ And  _ we’d have to find a new guitarist, which would be a fuckin’ pain.” The eyeroll hadn’t gone unnoticed by George, and he stuck out his tongue in retaliation. The grin on John’s face still hadn’t disappeared, and George sniffed, though he felt a smile of his own pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“It better be.”

They both were huffing and puffing by the time they’d reached the top of the stairs, tiredly dragging their feet to the front door and waving at Mrs. Wilkinson from number 23 with a smile. George slumped against the wall as John aimed at (and missed) the keyhole at least twice in his exhaustion. He groaned, tilting his head back against the brick.

“Maybe we should stop smoking,” he sighed, and John snorted in agreement as he finally turned the lock and pushed their front door open.

“We’re here!” John shouted down the small hallway, dragging the beer crate behind him. George followed suit, closing the door with his foot, and then making a beeline for their kitchen where he began to set out the bottles on the counter. The padding of feet behind him revealed to him that Ringo had decided to enter the kitchen, and he waited for the first words to be spoken as he rummaged through the shopping bag.

“So,” Ringo started sheepishly, leaning against the fridge with a tentative smile, “how was it?”

George placed the bottle of rum on the counter a little harder than the last one. Ringo’s eyebrows shot up, and George spotted the tiny pull of a smirk at the corner of his mouth before he regained his composure.

“It was fine,” he said, tone of voice casual. And honestly, it had been. He might’ve overreacted a little -  _ just a little -  _ when John’d approached him sporting that awful, annoyingly smug smirk of his, but in the end it’d been fine. Sure, he might have chatted more had Ringo brought him his ID, but John was still one of his best friends so it hadn’t been  _ awkward  _ .

Ringo clearly knew so, sniffing loudly to set off his fake waterworks, and George tried to keep his amusement hidden.

“Really?” the drummer asked, watery and nasally, voice quivering a bit. “Are you sure?”

“Of course!” He set the last bottle on the counter and then scrunched up the bag, flinging it in the direction of where they usually put their carrier bags. He’d have to properly fold that later, Macca would have an aneurysm if he’d left it there like that, but it wasn’t on his priority list right now. He grinned - maniacally, judging by the widening of Ritchie’s baby blues. “Everything went  _ fuckin’  _ fine. I love being laughed at by the most savage Beatle. Really.”

Somewhere - probably from the doorway - John coughed, but George kept his gaze on Ringo. The poor boy’s eyes were teary, a very well-executed attempt to look regretful, and George harshly bit his lip to keep his composure. He couldn’t help it though, a grin was starting to break through.

“Haz, I’m sorry-” Ringo blubbered dramatically, not yet noticing the smile on George’s face. “I  _ know  _ how John can be,  _ God I know,  _ he’s such an arsehole, really - an actual fuckin’ prick, and I just let you fall  _ victim  _ to that,  _ oh!  _ My  _ poor, innocent  _ Geo!”

John started snickering, and George was biting his lip so hard he tasted blood, desperate to keep himself from snorting. Ringo blinked, refocusing on George’s grin and then swiveled around to see a shaking John in the doorway. “Alright!” he yelled out, clapping George on the shoulder as he turned back, “alright!” he then said, wiping at his eyes and smiling brightly. “Good to know it went fine, then. At least you’ve got the booze, huh?”

“Right,” George said, walking towards his discarded bag and bending down to pick it up, pulling out the wrinkles. “Honestly, it was kind of fun to see that prick of a Tesco manager cower under one of John Lennon’s infamous glares. He was still annoyed at me though.”

“Poor man,” Ringo agreed, and John grinned proudly. “He must’ve just about shat his pants.”

John and George locked gazes, and John shot the younger boy a wink. “Pretty sure he did,” he said, then, nodding his head at George’s noises of agreement.

“Hm,” Ringo mused, “maybe I should’ve been there then.”

“Yeah,” George echoed with a grin, “you should’ve been there.”

Ringo left the kitchen with a smile, and John followed suit, saluting George on the way out. He smiled to himself a little, running his tongue over the front of his teeth and stuffing the folded bag with the others, before whipping out his phone.

 

**++**

 

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_ 1 online _

 

**_14:58_ **

_ Ringo:  _ ;)

 

**_15:35_ **

_ Macca:  _ what the fuck is going on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow surprise remember when i said like a couple of hours ago that the next chapter was going to include "drunk texting"?? Pfff that was a lie.  
> Anyway, please tell me if you like some 'normal' chapters inbetween texting scenes! Honestly, this particular scene just wouldn't have been done justice had I written it in the groupchat-format, so I couldn't help myself.  
> Next chapter WILL most likely contain drunk texting, 'cause that's fun!!!!  
> xx


	6. cover ur stump before u hump

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ringo: where are you lot then?? been waitin bloody ages  
> Ringo: m freezin me tits off  
> Ringo: hurry the fuck up
> 
> -  
> the lads go to a pub. drunk shenanigans ensue.

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_4  online_ **  
**

 

**_22:53_ **

_Macca:_ reckon we should leave soon to make it into the pub?

 _Ringo:_ cool, good idea

 _Ringo:_ alright you lot hurry up, ill be outside for the time being ok?

 _Macca:_ calm!

 _Geo:_ calm

 _Lemon:_ clam

 _Lemon:_ lmao

****

**_23:01_ **

The night air was chilly.

Ringo leaned against the cold brick of their apartment building, head tilted back as he lazily traced his eyes over the limited visible stars in the sky. He raised his freshly-lit cig to his lips and took a drag, allowing the smoke to burn in his lungs for a second or two before letting the white wisps trickle out of his nostrils. A pity, really, that he couldn’t see more; he rather liked those gigantic celestial bodies of gas. His own stage name even included ‘star’, though it was more a play on his _actual_ last name, and if that didn’t prove his fondness of ‘em he’d be miffed.

He’d been waiting for almost ten whole minutes now. The others said they’d be outside soon, so that they could leave for the pub, but the bastards were clearly taking their sweet time. He slightly regretted stepping outside first - he was cold as _fuck_ for starters, jean jacket really not cutting it - and being the only remotely sober one of the bunch. Maybe he would’ve been giggling inside there, with them, instead of feeling like a mum impatiently waiting on her gaggle of kids.

Someone jiggled the handle of the front door and it swung open, revealing a skinny figure with scraggly brown hair and high cheekbones and a too large leather jacket, an unlit cigarette dangling between long fingers - Geo. The younger boy shot him a smirk and stumbled over to stand next to him, knocking against Ringo’s shoulder just a little too hard to be on purpose. George was visibly inebriated, judging by his dopey grin and glassy eyes and incapability to hold his balance, and Ringo couldn’t help but smile as the boy still was able to light his ciggie with practiced precision no matter how drunk he’d gotten.

“What’cha doin’ then?” George asked. Ringo spotted a hint of a badly executed American accent through the drunken slur, and hid a smile behind a cloud of smoke.

“Stargazin’,” was his only answer, quickly sucking on the cancer stick again. Disgusting habit, really, but his rebellious teen years had him hooked on nicotine and he’d been too stressed to comfortably stop these past few years. His three mates - band, flat, both - had similar stories, he knew.

Geo pursed his lips in answer and looked up, frowning. “‘s not much to see, huh?”

And he was right. Light pollution had ruined stargazing years ago - he said that, as if he were some kind of wise immortal; Ringo stifled the giggle rising up with the thought - but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy looking up at the dark sky, even if it was smeared with the orange glow of the city.

“Fuck’s sake, Haz,” he said instead, shooting his friend a grin, “hadn’t noticed yet, mate. Was wonderin’ why there were no more than three silly little dots.”

George’s answering smile took a second longer than usual to appear, as if the sarcastic yet playful jab didn’t fully register immediately, and Ringo realised the boy was probably drunker than he looked. Oh well, he’d have to look after him a bit more than usual, then.

“So how far are the two lovebirds then?” he then asked. His ciggie was burned down halfway and he tapped it, staring as the ashes hit the pavement. “I’ve been waitin’ here for ten bloody minutes, mate.”

“John’d to take a piss. Macca too.” George shrugged, lazily taking another drag.

“Have they drank the fuckin’ Mediterranean’s worth of booze?”

George snickered, lolling his head to the side adorably. “Just about.”

 _Figures._ Ringo rolled his eyes with a smile, rolling one of the ring on his pinky finger with his thumb as a way to keep his hands busy. His hair was out of his face, his ciggie was fully up-to-date with ash-less-ness, and he couldn’t fumble with the zipper of his jacket because his jacket didn’t _have_ a zipper. He directed his gaze back towards the night sky and started to actually count the amount of visible stars.

They’d seemed three at first, but as he concentrated, there were four. Maybe five, though it might’ve been a satellite judging by the way it flicker red and green. Huh. Four visible stars. As if entranced, he puffed on his cig again, inhaling deeply, mind flashing about all the bad and creepy stuff he’d heard and read about as the smoke burned deep in his chest.

George sniffed from beside him, snapping Ringo out of his reverie and having him exhale the smoke with a cough. He bit his lip harshly. Had he poured one more beer, one more rum ‘n coke down his throat, maybe he wouldn’t have been pondering about stars, and the pain of cigarette smoke hitting the back of his throat and tarring up his lungs, and being so fuckin’ cold _._

His stubbed his cigarette out and whipped out his phone, opening the groupchat. He’d been pondering for long enough - and Geo too, god knows how deep that arse could get inside his head when intoxicated - and was _done_.

****

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_2 online_

 

**_23:04_ **

_Ringo:_ where are you lot then?? been waitin bloody ages

 _Ringo:_ m freezin me tits off

 _Ringo:_ hurry the fuck up

 _Lemon:_ alrit alrite dont get ye pnties ina twist

 _Lemon:_ mcca n i r just havin FUN arleady

****

Ringo directed his gaze to the heavens, producing a silent scream deep inside his throat. Geo didn’t seem to notice, too deeply focused on his own thoughts.

He really should’ve drunk more.

****

**_02:51_ **

The pub was warm, stuffy, and loud. Some band was playing in the corner - not the best Ringo’s heard, the drummer sometimes went slightly off beat and the guitars out of tune, and the singer’s voice was way too whiny, not his cup of tea - and lights flashed around the space as if the owner wanted to push a club-feeling onto their guests. It felt a bit off, but it was fine; the place was packed enough to feel like a club anyway.

He was sitting at a small table tucked in a corner, George across from him. John and Paul had disappeared to God-knows-where as soon as they’d entered because that’s what they always _did_ when they went out, so Ringo honestly couldn’t care less(even if he was a tad bit curious).

George leisurely sucked on his cigarette and twirled his beer around in his glass as he easily flirted with a pretty redhead. Flirting was one of the few things drunk Geo could smoothly(especially when compared to sober Geo flirting, as it usually ended in him being flustered and the bird being _very_ unamused) and Ringo almost found it fascinating how the boy managed to wrap the pretty lady round his pinky-fucking-finger with some drunken, suggestive smirks and a few smouldering looks.

The bird smiled sweetly at Geo and then slid her gaze from him to Ringo, pouting her lips a little. Ringo tilted his head back and quirked one corner of his mouth, winked, and took a sip of his own pint. She giggled and Ringo ignored the glare George gave him.

The girl - _Ally,_ was her name, as he’d heard her say mere moments before - was tapped on the shoulder by her friend, a leggy blonde with a nasty glare, before being tugged along. Sliding her index finger along the nape of George’s neck and smiling suggestively at Ringo, she disappeared in the packed crowd.

George exhaled harshly through his nose, obviously disappointed, and downed the remainder of his pint and before climbing clumsily onto his feet to order a new one. Ringo’d given up on trying to prevent the boy from becoming absolutely shitfaced - George _was_ nineteen, after all, a goddamn adult capable of making his own decisions - and was now content with just relaxing and maybe snatching a pretty girl too.

Ringo rifled through his pockets and dug out his carton of cigs, placing one between his lips and lighting it. Smoking had been forbidden in most establishments since a year or so, but it didn’t stop the crowd from doing so anyway. It was sort of nice, actually; smoking was a perfect way to socialize, and he didn’t even have to go outside like some people did. He was already halfway through his cigarette when Geo returned, two pints in hand, setting them on the table before disappearing again. Ringo didn’t even have time to question that, because before he knew it Geo had returned yet again, this time holding four tiny, fluorescently coloured glasses, two in each hand. His smile was mischievous.

“Are you sure, mate?” Ringo asked, amused when Geo stumbled over his own feet as he set the small glasses on the table. “Think you can handle it?”

Geo merely shrugged with a grin and sat down again, sliding two of four across the table and towards Ringo. “Le’s find out, heh?”

The dark liquid smelled like liquorice, and Ringo raised an inquisitive eyebrow at George. “‘s some Dutch stuff, apparently,” the younger boy clarified, picking up his own shot. “Barkeep reckons it tastes good enough, thought we oughta try.”

“Cheers,” Ringo grinned, and he raised the glass to his lips, tilting his head back. The booze was a little thick, thicker than most shots he’d had in his years of drinking, and coated his tongue and the back of his throat almost unpleasantly, but not very. It was sweet and salty at the same time with a strong presence of anise, and he ran his tongue over the front of his teeth after swallowing. It was tasty, honestly, more like a treat than something to get drunk on - maybe a little heavy on the stomach. He placed the glass back down and looked at Geo, who was clearly enjoying the taste.

“You up for the second?” he asked, and George nodded violently. Ringo imagined that couldn’t have been too pleasant, judging by the swift stop of the movement and the harsh blinking the guitarist did afterwards. “How ‘bout some water first, hm?”

“No, no. First the shot. ‘m up for it, promise!”

“Alright,” Ringo threw back his shot quickly. This one settled a little less pleasantly, and as Ringo rested his gaze on George, he realised that it didn’t fall comfortably for him. Ringo quickly rose to get a glass of water, squeezing Geo’s shoulder gently as he passed.

It didn’t take long for him to return with some water. Weirdly, George had disappeared. There was no trace of him, except their untouched pints and empty shot glasses, and Ringo stood there like a doofus for half a minute or so, looking around him, before huffing, setting off the find Geo.

He checked the loos first. Sadly, all of ‘em were unoccupied, and when he’d asked a couple of birds to check whether there was a skinny lad with black, high-top Docs and pretty hair puking his guts out in one of the cubicles of the women’s bathroom, he’d only gotten negative answers. He clenched his hand around the glass of water a couple of times, gritting his teeth, before whipping out his phone.

****

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_1 online_ ****  
** **

 

**_03:04_ **

_Ringo:_ @Geo where in the name of fuck are ya lad

 _Ringo:_ where did ya run off to?

 _Ringo:_ i leave for one (1) second and you go outie

 _Ringo:_ what the fuck

 _Ringo:_ also @Macca and @Lemon where are you 2 at???

****

**_03:06_ **

_Ringo:_ seriously this pub isnt that big

 _Ringo:_ have you lot gone up in smoke??

 _Ringo:_ poofed outta here like some sort of supernatural beins

 _Ringo:_ lads pls

 _Ringo:_ george ive got yer goddamn water still

 _Ringo:_ fucks sake

****

**_03:13_ **

_Ringo:_ @Geo answer ur bloody phone

 _Ringo:_ if youve gone to puke your guts out, why the hell cant i find you??

 _Ringo:_ and if youve gone to shag a bird you better do it safely

 _Ringo:_ NONE of us have got the means to pay for child support rn and u know it

 _Ringo:_ even if its a quickie wrap that sticky

 _Ringo:_ cover ur stump before u hump

 _Ringo:_ cap that seeder before u breed her

 _Ringo:_ anyway @Macca answer ur bloody phone too jesus christ

 _Ringo:_ im not even gonna ATTEMPT john 

 _Ringo:_ are you outside???

 _Ringo:_ im gonna go outside

****

**_03:29_ **

_Geo:_ oh fuck sorry ritchie :((((

 _Geo:_ i felt fukced and tohughtyoud gone to sme bird

 _Geo:_ so i wnt ousside for a breather and found julienne weingbratner

 _Geo:_ remember macca?? form schooool!!

 _Geo:_ shes pretty and inivted me back in so i went back in

 _Geo:_ if shes into me ill try n remembre ur advice

****

**_03:56_ **

_Geo:_??ritchie???

 _Geo:_ sadly no shaggn tonigth

 _Geo:_ only got a kiss an a number but still nice hAH

 _Geo:_ but ur not outside

 _Geo:_ pff

 _Geo:_ rude

 _Geo:_ @Macca where r u n john??

 _Geo:_???? srsly

 _Geo:_ ugh

****

**_04:02_ **

_Geo:_ ritchie u bettr not me shaggin a pretty bird rn

 _Geo:_ thas my job n i didnt get to do it so u dont s wellll

 _Geo:_ but seriously whered u run off to mate

 _Geo:_ wow wtf thas pete???

 _Geo:_ imma go n talk to m

****

**_04:15_ **

_Geo:_ so pete is still pissed we replaced m with ringo

 _Geo:_ understandble

 _Geo:_ was unnecassary(???) to punch me in da face but ok

****

**_04:20_ **

_Geo:_ lol blaze it

 _Ringo:_ pete best socked ya in the face???

 _Ringo:_ where the fuck are you george???

 _Geo:_ aaaAAAaAyyyy theer he isss!!!!

 _Geo:_ im in the loos

 _Geo:_ ladies loos ;)

 _Geo:_ julienne is fixin up me face

 _Ringo:_ that better not be an innuendo geo

 _Ringo:_ if so im very proud of you but nows not the time you got punched???

 _Geo:_ no innuendo, ive got a bloody nose n probably a black eye??

 _Geo:_ hurts like a bitchhhh

 _Geo:_ anyroad i prolly desreved the punch honstly

 _Ringo:_ im on my way

 _Ringo:_ no matter how much of an arse you can be, no reason to give ya a black eye

 _Geo:_ awww i love ya ritchie

 _Ringo:_ you better

****

**_04:34_ **

_Lemon:_ hey! john got into a fight

 _Lemon:_ or was at the wrong place at the wrong time, got punched in the face and punched back and it escalated

 _Lemon:_ he’s also fuckin wasted lmao

 _Lemon:_ taking him home right now, you two wanna tag along?

 _Lemon:_ hes leanin on me quite heavily m would appreciate the help

 _Lemon:_ we’re outside, by the doors

 _Ringo:_ macca? why are you texting from johns phone?

 _Lemon:_ my phone’s been dead since we left

 _Lemon:_ forgot to charge it lol

 _Ringo:_ pfff smart

 _Geo:_ maccaaaaaa!!!!

 _Lemon:_ hey luv!

 _Geo:_ love ya mate <3

 _Lemon:_ love ya too, geo ;*

 _Ringo:_ bLATANT pda here tone it down bitte

 _Ringo:_ anyroad were comin paulie, stay were ya are

 _Lemon:_ pretty sure john just passed out so im not going anywhere x **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !! look, it's a 'longer' chapter. ofc there's a suspicious lack of our sarcastic citrus and momma cutiepie, but hey! drunk geo is adorable and i love him and mother hen ringo is adorable and i love him too. idk mate i just wanted more ringo. we'll see if the next chap is macca centric :P  
> anyway, since the 'normal text inbetween texting' seems to be a positive addition, it's gonna be incorporated more :) barely any plot doesn't mean that the texting can't make some sense and have a little clear context, right?  
> also it's just fun lmao. 
> 
> hope this was enjoyable :) love you lot xx


	7. truth serum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning afters are always interesting  
> *  
> Geo: and my nose is fuckin blocked  
> Ringo: that’d be the blood  
> Geo: that  
> Geo: that’d be the what now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ
> 
> imma be honest, I don't really like how this chapter turned out(it kind of feels like I'm just dragging the small amount of plot i incorporated around, which i personally hate) so im gonna try and make the next crack-ish and funny again without feeling boring. it's just been a whopping five days since i updated last and i really needed to upload, so here ya go. hope it's of SOME quality. enjoy!

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_1 online_

**_05:05_ **

_Ringo:_ sorry macca, johnny, im not gonna say gnight tonight

 _Ringo:_ literly fallin asleep as i write this

 _Geo:_ pf

 _Geo:_ ‘literly’

 _Ringo:_ george we share a room you couldve just said it

 _Geo:_ you couldve just said THAT irl but ya DIDNT

 _Ringo:_ …

 _Ringo:_ GOODNIGHT GEORGE

 _Ringo:_ n stop makin kissy noises ya drunk fuck

 

**_05:11_ **

“ _Ow!”_

“Hold still now, Johnny, I just gotta-”

“What? No! It hurts!”

“Yeah well no _shit_ it hurts,” Paul hissed out when John _fuckin’ idiot_ Lennon pulled his face away with an annoyed, teary grimace for the _hundredth_ time. He raised the ball of cotton, soaked in rubbing alcohol, back to John’s face.“It’s antiseptic. I don’t want you to get an infection, mate. God knows where the knuckles of that other lad have been-”

John swerved his head back and slapped Paul’s hand hard enough for the cotton ball to go flying to the dirty floor of their kitchen. His eyes were slightly red - both from exhaustion and weed - and he squinted at his best friend, blinking a couple of times as he thought of a clever comeback. “Up yer arse,” he concluded after a couple of seconds, satisfied. The smirk, however, slid off his face as soon as it came on when the cut on his lip stretched and a sharp pain shot through his mouth.

Paul’s mouth opened and closed for a good five seconds, before he regained control over his goddamn face and plucked a new cotton ball from the plastic ball, dousing it with rubbing alcohol. “ _Well it might’ve!”_ he sneered, now opting to grab John’s bruised jaw tightly in his right hand, pressing the cotton ball against the cut. John produced a high-pitched whine and squeezed his eyes shut, the burn of the alcohol against an open cut probably a little too much for his drunk self.

It’d taken Paul and Ringo almost half an hour to haul John’s shitfaced, half-unconscious arse back to their apartment. George’d been skipping along, a little too drunk and preoccupied with his nosebleed to aid them, and had thus been of no _fuckin’_ help except for unlocking the doors they needed to get through - the door of their apartment building and their front door - and yelling adorable words of encouragement as Ringo and Paul had dragged John up the stairs. Weirdly enough, the John had sobered up significantly after being planted on one of the kitchen chairs and being lapped up. It was probably the stinging antiseptic on his ‘battle wounds’, but Paul still felt a bit miffed that John hadn’t even _tried_ to sober up a little while he and Ringo had been dragging the boy up the stairs.

Paul took the cotton ball off the cut and started dabbing as gently as possible. The cut didn’t look like it needed stitches; it wasn’t a gaping hole, and actually looked more like he’d smiled while his lips were too dry and cracked them instead of an actual split lip, apart from the obvious swelling starting to occur. John’s eyes were still harshly screwed shut, and Paul rolled his eyes as he automatically began to blow on it to soften the sting, like his mother used to do. John’s grimace slowly disappeared, and he opened his eyes, blinking to get the tears out. “Rude,” he said, sniffing, and Paul swallowed a laugh.

“We don’t want an infection, Johnny-boy,” he repeated, slowly dabbing again and blowing on the cut every other time. “It’s your own damn fault anyway.”

Ringo and George were already upstairs, probably in bed, as George refused to let anyone touch his busted nose and black eye and Ringo was quite literally exhausted. Just Paul and John - or JohnandPaul as people liked to call them - in the bad lighting of the kitchen, John being patched up to look at least a little decent in the morning.

“Alright,” Paul then said, tapping gently on the cut one last time. “Don’t smile for a little while mate. I’m off to get some cream.”

“Cream!” John called out incredulously, snorting, “what kind of _cream-”_

“Got it,” Paul produced a tube of some zinc-ointment-cream-bull _shite_ and squirted a dollop onto his finger. “This might be weird, but just suck it up,” he warned, smearing it onto his friend’s mouth with a smile. “You’ll be less of an arsehole in the morning, I promise.”

“I’m never an arsehole in the morning-” John started, but shut up after Paul’s glare and averted his bloodshot eyes, mumbling profanities under his breath.

“Anyway, I’m finished.” Paul screwed the lid shut and placed the tube on the table. “Just use this again in the morning and it won’t hurt as much.”

“Like _shite-”_

“Come on then,” Paul clapped his hands, tugging at John’s arm. “Off to bed, now.”

 

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_2 online_

 

**_09:24_ **

_Macca:_ lmao i’m scrolling through the texts from last night and it’s hilarious

 _Macca:_ @Geo god i love you when you’re drunk

 _Macca:_ also why would pete punch you??

 _Macca:_ from what i remember he was kind of insulted but not mad when we told him ritchie’d be taking his spot

 _Ringo:_ he was probably an arsehole, as per usual

 _Ringo:_ still no need to give him a black eye though

 _Macca:_ good mornin to you too ritchie

 _Macca:_ but yea, that’s true

 _Macca:_ i’ve also got no idea how johnny boy got into a fight

 _Macca:_ literally one moment i’m at ordering him a glass of water and he’s standing right next to me, the next he’s swingin at some other lad like a white british knock-off bad quality muhammad ali

 _Ringo:_ didn’t you say he got punched by accident and hit back?

 _Macca:_ oh yea lol i did

 _Macca:_ but usually it happens before he can react

 _Macca:_ this time he went like ‘FUCK OFF YA CUNT’ and bashed the other lad’s face in

 _Macca:_ it’s both hilarious and concerning how aggressive he is when drunk

 _Ringo:_ im surprised ya didnt notice earlier

 _Macca:_ no i did but it’s fascinating still

 _Ringo:_ pffffff

 _Macca:_ also I’m off to the store!! we’re out of painkillers

 _Ringo:_ how??

 _Macca:_ because we’re all weak af

 _Ringo:_ makes sense

 

**_10:15_**

_Geo:_ jesus fuck everything hurts

 _Ringo:_ i can literally hear you groaning all the way downstairs

 _Geo:_ and i can literally hear you eating all the way up here

 _Geo:_ why in the name of fuck are you eating cereal

 _Ringo:_??? because it’s breakfast

 _Geo:_ i can FEEL sound atm and your spoon hitting the bowl feels like i’ve hit me head against something pointy

 _Geo:_ ritchie can you,,, can you bring me some advil? pls?

 _Ringo:_ no can do mate

 _Ringo:_ we’re out of painkillers and maccas run to the shops for em

 _Ringo:_ … 45 minutes ago

 _Geo:_ you’re joking

 _Ringo:_?? no

 _Geo:_ why the fuck are we out of painkillers

 _Ringo:_ scroll back

 _Geo:_ k

 _Geo:_ wtf macca we’re not weak you’re weak

 _Ringo:_ you literally just said that sound hurts

 _Geo:_ pfff inconsistent argumentation

 _Ringo:_ you just try to sleep some more while pauls grabbin the advil, alright?

 

 **_Geo_ ** **sent a picture**

_Ringo:_ you have a beautiful middle finger geo

 _Ringo:_ now sleep before the flash hurts ya

 

**_11:25_ **

_Macca:_ is john awake yet?

 _Ringo:_ i have not yet heard a peep from the gremlin

 _Macca:_ … so no?

 _Ringo:_ no

 _Macca:_ thank god

 _Macca:_ most stores are closed cause its Sunday

 _Macca:_ and the shops that are open have for some reason run out of painkillers?? it’s rude

 _Macca:_ and i missed the bus so i had to jog to the next store and they had some advil so i’m on my way back now

 _Ringo:_ chill!

 _Ringo:_ geo was already complaining

 _Macca:_ i read that while waiting in line yea

 _Macca:_ that mother of fuck called me weak let him suffer a bit more kay

 _Macca:_ like idk bang some pots n pans together

 _Ringo:_ on it

 _Ringo:_ im gonna tap my spoon against the bowl

 _Macca:_ brilliant

 

**_11:40_ **

_Geo:_ macca are you home yet

 _Macca:_ yea just arrived, kickin off me shoes

 _Macca:_ didn’t you hear the door?

 _Geo:_ m tryin to block out sound

 _Geo:_ you’ve got the advil???

 _Macca:_ yea yea luv ill be right up

 _Macca:_ but why the fuck are you texting anyway we live in the same house

 _Geo:_ the world spins violently when i move my head so im not risking going down the stairs

 _Geo:_ also apart from like causin dizziness every movement hurts like a bitch

 _Geo:_ and my nose is fuckin blocked

 _Ringo:_ that’d be the blood

 _Geo:_ that

 _Geo:_ that’d be the what now

 _Ringo:_ ?? your nose was bleedin

 _Geo:_ my nose was what now

 _Ringo:_ do u remember what happened?

 _Geo:_?????

 _Ringo:_ scroll back

 _Geo:_ …k

 _Macca:_ how the fuck doesn’t he remember

 _Ringo:_ idk mate

 _Geo:_???????? pete punched me?????

 _Ringo:_ yea lol

 _Ringo:_ you should look in the mirror mate

 _Geo:_ … what about it??

 _Macca:_ your face is all fucked up

 _Macca:_ coming up with advil now

 _Geo:_ my face is what now???

 _Ringo:_ so i kinda lost ya last night and while you were searchin for me you saw pete and then got punched in the face

 _Ringo:_ and then later you were like “hey im in the ladies loos ;)” and i found ya there

 _Ringo:_ n some bird was dabbing away at ya face with some paper towels

 _Geo:_ … i might remember that

 _Geo:_ who was the bird

 _Ringo:_ ehh hold on imma scroll back

 _Ringo:_ you said “julienne weingbratner”

 _Geo:_ JULIENNE

 _Geo:_ she was fixin me face???

 _Geo:_ wowowowow

 _Geo:_ holy shit @Macca you remember her???

 _Macca:_ of COURSE i do she was the prettiest lass in school

 _Macca:_ you got her number, congrats mate

 _Geo:_??? i did???

 _Geo:_ why do i only manage shit like this when im hammered

 _Ringo:_ bc you’re too much of a pussy to ever do shit like that sober/not decently boozed up?

 _Geo:_ god true

 _Geo:_ oh fuck i think i remember what i said to pete

 _Geo:_ unrelated; james paul mccartney is a blessing and i would 100% marry the fuck out of that pretty bitch 

 _Macca:_ i, too, would 100% marry you cause you’re adorable

 _Ringo:_ and not me :(

 _Geo:_ yknow what, sure, i would marry you too

 _Macca:_ same

 _Geo:_ not john tho we’d kill each other the morning after the wedding

 _Macca:_ anyway what happened, tho, geo? now that you remember

 _Geo:_ oh yea

 _Geo:_ i think i saw pete and went over to him to be like “hey mate how are ya” and we had that standard talk of “yeah im good how are you” “im great” “cool” “cool” shite

 _Geo:_ and we were talkin a bit about our lives now and i asked him what he was doin and he said something like “nah mate i asked you first”

 _Geo:_ so i said we were doing pretty well now and that we’re recording an album n stuff and actually get money apart from odd jobs

 _Geo:_ and he said “wow you’ve really taken off huh!”

 _Geo:_ and then

 _Geo:_ oh god

 _Geo:_ hhnn i wanna die

 _Ringo:_??? are you ok?

 _Macca:_ … geo what the fuck did you say

 _Geo:_ i said

 _Geo:_ “yeah now that we’ve got a decent drummer”

 _Macca:_ GEORGE jesus crhist we LIKE pete remember???

 _Geo:_ I DO BUT I WAS BEIN HONSET AND YOU KNOW HOW BOOZE MAKES ME HONEST

 _Ringo:_ idk if I’m supposed to feel flattered that you called me decent or insulted that you called me decent

 _Geo:_ :( :( :(

 _Macca:_ i want to fuckin scream

 _Macca:_ oh my GOD

 _Geo:_ i’m sorry

 _Macca:_ ,,,, i mean you weren’t WRONG you just hsouldnt’ve said it that way

 _Geo:_ sorry :(((

 _Geo:_ … is it safe for me to come downstairs without you knockin me head clean off?

 _Macca:_ pf

 _Macca:_ yes

 _Geo:_ cool cause im starving

 _Macca:_ i’m giving you cereal

 _Geo:_ fuck you

 _Macca:_ sure you can live through the pain, mate, im the weak one remember?

 

**_13:24_ **

_Lemon:_ why is my face hurting

 _Ringo:_ afternoon, johnnyboy

 _Lemon:_ yea yea whatever

 _Lemon:_ but why is my face hurting

 _Macca:_ guy accidentally punched you, you punched back, enter row

 _Lemon:_ fjdk why didnt u stop me????

 _Macca:_ oh i tried but apparently it wasnt really workin

 _Macca:_ kneed me in the bollocks you arse

 _Lemon:_ pff did i

 _Macca:_ yes.

 _Lemon:_ fjdka sorry for that

 _Geo:_ hi

 _Geo:_ got punched by pete best, hurts like a bitch

 _Geo:_ 10/10 would not recommend

 _Geo:_ zero stars

 _Lemon:_???? you did???

 _Lemon:_ man what a night amirite

 _Geo:_ yea lmao

 _Macca:_ i don’t understand you two

 _Macca:_ anyway john advil and lunch is downstairs, if you’d like?

 _Lemon:_ you’re a blessing, macca


	8. ok but did u die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geo: y e s.  
> Geo: need me some lennon juice squeezed out over it  
> Geo: wait no i regret that statement  
> *  
> our lads discuss dinner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> disclaimer: there's a vine used in this chap, one by rex testarossa. credit of that vine, of course, belongs to him

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_4 online_

 

**_14:34_ **

_Macca:_ so what are we gonna do for dinner today

 _Lemon:_ what do u mean?

 _Lemon:_ thought u had a meal plan for every day of the week?

 _Macca:_ yea but,,,

 _Macca:_ I do Not feel like cooking

 _Macca:_ and like, I’m not allowing you near the stove

 _Macca:_ and all Ringo can make is porridge and I’m not eating porridge

 _Macca:_ and Geo always puts in an ungodly amount of spice

 _Geo:_ boo you whore

 _Geo:_ s not my fault you can’t handle my spice

 _Macca:_ :/

 _Geo:_ psh I’m too hot for ya anyway

 _Lemon:_ why am i not allowed near the stove???

 _Macca:_ last time you cooked something you started a fire

 _Lemon:_ ok but

 _Lemon:_ did u die???

 _Lemon:_ no.

 _Macca:_ john,,, you were boiling an egg

 _Geo:_ EGG

 _Geo:_ e g g

 _Ringo:_ george are you ok

 _Geo:_ no

 _Ringo:_???????? i am concrened????

 _Geo:_ concrened

 _Lemon:_ concrened

 _Macca:_ concrened

 _Ringo:_ walk straight into hell and fukcin die

 _Lemon:_ fukcin

 _Geo:_ fukcin

 _Macca:_ fukcin

 _Ringo:_ ……

 _Macca:_ anyway back to the topic at hand

 _Macca:_ how do you set fire

 _Macca:_ to an egg

 _Macca:_ IN its shell

 _Macca:_ IN water

 _Lemon:_ ok but,,,

 _Macca:_ but what?

_Lemon: …_

_Lemon:_ i actually have no excuse

 _Macca:_ sEE

 _Ringo:_ anyway what do you want to do then son??

 _Ringo:_ takeout? go to a restaurant

 _Macca:_ ya!!! But where?

 _Lemon:_ chinese?

 _Ringo:_ sushi?

 _Lemon:_ OH but expensive

 _Ringo:_ hm ya ture

 _Geo:_ ture

 _Lemon:_ ture

 _Macca:_ ture

 _Ringo:_ since when was today “annoy the fuck out of rigno”-day?

 _Ringo:_ fuck

 _Geo:_ :)

 _Geo:_ rigno

 _Lemon:_ rigno

****

**_Lemon_ ** **changed** **_Ringo_ ** **’s name to** **_Rigno_ **

****

_Rigno:_ john i’m going to kill you

 _Rigno:_ very slowly

 _Rigno:_ i’m gonna chop of yer cock and cook it slowly

 _Rigno:_ and macca’s gonna help me cause i can, indeed, only make porridge

 _Rigno:_ and then i’m gonna feed it to ya

 _Lemon:_ yknow im not into sadism but this turned me on a lil bit not gonna lie

 _Macca:_ how the fuck did that turn you on that was disgusting

 _Geo:_ …

 _Geo:_ “ **@Lemon:** **i think that fungus might be the reason i’m not into tentacle porn** ” @Macca are you really that surprised

 _Lemon:_ ill have you lot know my fetishes are very respectable

 _Geo:_ CALLIN PEOPLE DADDY IS G R O S S

 _Lemon:_ s t a h p  KINKSHAMING me

 _Geo:_ kinkshaming IS my kink ;)

 _Lemon:_ AAAAAAAAAH

 _Rigno:_ is this-waht

 _Lemon:_ waht

 _Macca:_ waht

 _Geo:_ waht

 _Rigno:_ can you cunts STOP

 _Macca:_ ;) alright, rigno

 _Rigno:_ …

****

**_Rigno_ ** **changed his name to** **_Ringo_ **

****

_Ringo:_ cool.

 _Ringo:_ anyway i just wanna ask

 _Ringo:_ was that a legit convo between the two of you just now

 _Ringo:_ like an original

 _Macca:_ an,,,, original?

 _Lemon:_ yes ritchie geo and i are indeed comedic geniuses in secret

 _Lemon:_ weve been hiding this from u since we met ya kicked pete out for ur beautiful arse

 _Ringo:_ … really

 _Lemon:_ of course not ya gormless tit

 _Lemon:_ its from a vine

 _Geo:_ rex testarosa

 _Geo:_ aboslute mad lad

 _Lemon:_ aboslute

 _Macca:_ aboslute

 _Ringo:_ aboslute!!!

 _Geo:_ … aboslute ;)

 _Lemon:_ its no fun when u make fun of it urself :(

 _Geo:_ well thats a fuckin pity then huh

 _Geo:_ anyway macca do you already know where we wanna eat

 _Macca:_ well gosh blimey yes I do Georgie

 _Macca:_ I’m a mind-reader, you see so I know ex-act-ly where you lot wanna eat

 _Lemon:_ hold up u are

 _Macca:_ OF FUCKIN COURSE NOT LENNON jesus

 _Lemon:_ psh.

 _Macca:_ but to answer your question geo

 _Macca:_ no. I’ve got no fuckin clue

 _Geo:_ hmm alright cause I’m feeling up to something

 _Geo:_ but

 _Geo:_ I forgot what it’s called

 _Ringo:_ christ

 _Ringo:_ that’s exactly what we needed georgie

 _Ringo:_ thank u for the clear hints to what restaurant we should pick

 _Geo:_ shush.

 _Macca:_ what category are you thinking geo?

 _Geo:_ like

 _Geo:_ it’s a sea thing

 _Lemon:_ ah yes

 _Lemon:_ the sea thing

 _Lemon:_ really my favourite food,,, sea thing

 _Lemon:_ latin name is thingus oceanus

 _Lemon:_ it tastes like something and its delicious

 _Geo:_ y e s.

 _Geo:_ need me some lennon juice squeezed out over it

 _Geo:_ wait no i regret that statement

 _Ringo:_ HAFNAFH LENNON JUICE

 _Geo:_ wHY CANT I DELETE MESSAGES

 _Macca:_ i’m actually crying rn

 _Macca:_ lennon juice

 _Macca:_ LENNON juice

 _Geo:_ you know you don’t need to repeat it

 _Lemon:_ im flattered george but as ive said before i would rather kiss an octopus fungus than kiss you

 _Geo:_ fjjfl;afa; and I’m still glad you do

 _Macca:_ BUT what do you mean anyway geo

 _Geo:_ oh yea

 _Geo:_ ehhh

 _Geo:_ it’s a sea-dwelling creature

 _Geo:_ like, it turns red when you cook it

 _Macca:_ shrimp?

 _Geo:_ no but close

 _Geo:_ it’s like a sea scorpion

 _Ringo:_ ????

 _Geo:_ it is!!! Like a sea scorpion

 _Lemon:_ crab?

 _Geo:_ yea but like no

 _Geo:_ it’s long

 _Geo:_ like a long crab

 _Lemon:_ ,,, a long crab

 _Geo:_ ya

 _Geo:_ n like rich people eat it usually

 _Macca:_ … do you mean lobster

 _Geo:_ YES

 _Geo:_ a lobster

 _Geo:_ I wanna eat lobster

 _Lemon:_ a LONG crab

 _Geo:_ but like it is

 _Geo:_ it’s like a crab

 _Geo:_ but long

 _Geo:_ a long crab

 _Lemon:_ george you went to grammar school

 _Geo:_ yea and

 _Geo:_ what’s yer point

 _Lemon:_ … nothing

 _Geo:_ cool.

 _Ringo:_ anyway i’m up for seafod

 _Lemon:_ seafod

 _Macca:_ seafod

 _Geo:_ seafod

 _Ringo:_ hhhhhhhhhh fcuk all of you

 _Lemon:_ fcuk

 _Geo:_ fcuk

 _Ringo:_ FUCK OFF

 _Macca:_ <3

 _Macca:_ ANYROAD we can eat lobster

 _Lemon:_ i am Not up for food poisoning paul

 _Lemon:_ cant we just eat like,,,

 _Lemon:_ mcdonalds

 _Geo:_ ;)

 _Geo:_ don’t you mean

 _Geo:_ MACdonalds

 _Macca:_ goerge my last name is literally with ‘mc’ not with ‘mac’

 _Ringo:_ goerge

 _Lemon:_ goerge

****

**_Geo_ ** **changed his name to** **_Goerge_ **

****

_Macca:_ jesus christ

 _Goerge:_ :)

 _Macca:_ but like eating lobster doesn’t mean food poisoning necessarily

 _Macca:_ as long as it’s prepared correctly it’s fine

 _Macca:_ … like with any food

 _Lemon:_ not with cereal

 _Macca: ..._ john i   s w e a r  to god

 _Lemon:_ what??

 _Ringo:_ hi, can-only-make-porridge-guy here! you CAN fuck up making cereal! thank you for reading x

 _Lemon:_ how???

 _Goerge:_ using spoiled milk? bad yoghurt?

 _Lemon:_ sounds fake but ok.

 _Goerge:_ this is literally basic ceareal making stuff

 _Ringo:_ ceareal

 _Macca:_ ceareal

 _Lemon:_ ceareal

 _Goerge:_ you know i’m right

 _Macca:_ we do, john just doesn’t

 _Lemon:_ pf.

 _Lemon:_ i know things

 _Lemon:_ i have KNOWLEDGE or whatever the fuck you normies call it.

 _Macca:_ I know love it’s just… more limited?

 _Lemon:_ that is literally the rudest thing youve ever said to me

 _Macca:_ you just basically stated you don’t believe that cereal made with dairy that’s gone bad is bad cereal

 _Lemon:_ yea and?

 _Macca:_ j o h n

 _Ringo:_ i am Concerned

 _Goerge:_ hey lennon what do you do when milk has clumps in it?

 _Lemon:_ u mean the free cheese?

 _Goerge:_ HAHAHAH i’m gonna throw up

 _Ringo:_ hfjfkadj;f JESUS

 _Macca:_...

 _Macca:_ i am five (5) seconds away from crying

 _Lemon:_ ;)

 _Lemon:_ wait i hear actual sobs now

 _Lemon:_ paul i wasnt serious

 _Lemon:_ babe

 _Lemon:_ babe pls i wasnt serious

****

**_15:07_ **

_Goerge:_ … is macca actually crying?

 _Ringo:_ i literally couldn’t tell you

 _Goerge:_ :|

****

**_16:03_ **

_Goerge:_ so what are we gonna eat

 _Goerge:_ I’m actually kind of hungry already

 _Macca:_ snack on an apple, geo

 _Goerge:_ oh hey

 _Goerge:_ … are you ok?

 _Macca:_ yea I’m all right, just fuckin with johnny that’s all

 _Macca:_ now go get yer apple before you start munching on the doors

 _Macca:_ I think I placed the new ones on the kitchen counter

 _Goerge:_...mkay

 _Goerge:_ thanks luv

 _Macca:_ :*

****

**_16:06_ **

_Macca:_ who the hell is yellin

 _Goerge:_ WHAT THE FUCK IS IN THE KITCHEN

 _Macca:_ oh it’s you

 _George:_ PAUL WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT

 _Macca:_ that, my friend, is an uncooked lobster

 _Goerge:_ an

 _Goerge:_ an uncooked lobster

 _Macca:_ yea!!

 _Goerge:_ WHY.

 _Macca:_ you wanted lobster and lenny didn’t want food poisoning, so I’m cookin it meself

 _Goerge:_ i

 _Goerge:_ i thought you didn’t wanna cook tonight

 _Macca:_ lobster is unexplored territory for me and it is exciting!! so I want to give it a try

 _Macca:_ also john is kind of convincing

 _Macca:_ i’ll not go into the details

 _Goerge:_ thank god

 _Goerge:_ but

 _Goerge:_ WHERE the fuck did you get a lobster???

 _Macca:_ I have my ways ;)

 _Goerge:_ HHHHHH

 _Macca:_ did you just scream again

 _Goerge:_ IT IS MOVING

 _Goerge:_ I REPEAT

 _Goerge:_ IT IS M O V I N G

 _Goerge:_ OH MY GOD

 _Macca:_ yea?? good, that means it’s still alive

 _Goerge:_ WHAT DO YOU MEAN GOOD

 _Goerge:_ HOW IS THAT ALIEN BENIG ALIVE GOOD

 _Macca:_ benig

 _Ringo:_ benig

 _Lemon:_ benig

 _Goerge:_ FUCK OFF

 _Macca:_ anyway haven’t you heard?? that’s how you cook a lobster

 _Goerge:_...

 _Goerge:_ macca what the actual FUCK **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MORE CRACK as promised. Hope it was a bit enjoyable, lmao!  
> Anyway, thanks so much for the support this has gotten! It's great to think so many people like this bullshit hahahah  
> xx


	9. veggie kINGS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This is your fault.”  
> “And how, exactly, is it my fault love?”  
> -  
> George decides to go vegetarian. Paul too. John's pissed. Paul couldn't be arsed.

**_11:34_ **

“This is your fault.”

Paul sighed through his nose and raked a hand through his hair, watching as John heatedly hurled a couple of disposable, food-filled trays into their cart. The older boy stood up straighter and braced himself against the cart, eyes narrowed in a nasty, authentic John-Lennon-glare.

“And how, exactly, is it my fault love?” Paul asked, rolling his eyes. John was just being overdramatic, as per usual, he reasoned with himself. Annoyance bubbled through his veins as John snatched another packet from the shelf and flung it into the cart.

John hissed at Paul’s soft and gentle _‘oi, watch it!’_ and his glare deepened when the boy leaned down to properly stack the food, hair flopping in front of his eyes. He pushed it back, frowning when it immediately flopped back in place again, and John rolled his eyes. Paul apparently hadn’t had the time to style his hair before they left the apartment to house to do their shopping, and the lack of gel made it look soft and fluffy. The fact that the sight made John feel the urge to run his hands through it, almost made him want to start screeching in the middle of fuckin’ Tesco.

Paul straightened back up with a sigh, blowing a longer lock out of his face, and crossed his arms. “You didn’t answer me, y’know,” he pointed out with an infuriatingly pretty smirk, batting his absurdly long eyelashes at John. John merely glared.

“Well?” Paul left their cart and walked over to the vegetables, reaching out to inspect a cabbage for any brown spots. “Why is it my fault?”

“Ever since you brought that fucking _lobster_ into the house George has been scared of eating meat,” John snapped, grabbing another packet of the meat-substitute burgers in his rage and placing them angrily on top of the others, “fuckin’- fuckin’ _“you throw them into boiling_ fucking _hot water alive, geo”_ -arse bullshite and now he feels so guilty and suddenly, _suddenly_ we’ve all gotta adapt?” John paused, still seething, and pushed his glasses further up his nose. “Just- _“oh we’re friends so we have to_ fuckin’ _support him”._ Like _shite,_ Macca. What about _my_ needs and wants, huh? What about my fuckin’ bacon and sausages and spaghetti-with-meatballs? Am I just supposed to give that up because George _fuckin’_ Harrison has decided eating meat is sad?”

Paul sniffed and placed the cabbage back with the others. They apparently did not need cabbage anymore. “It’s not that big of a deal, John,” he said calmly, his reserved nature making John ready to rip his hair out of his head. Paul stepped towards the lettuce, swiftly sniffing out the best one and putting it into the cart. “It might be a phase, it might not. Who cares. You can go eat meat if you want to, but you’ll have to make your own meals. I’ve been wanting to go vegetarian myself for a while too, so I’ll be cooking without meat.”

“Mere _days_ ago you said you’ve been wanting to try out cooking a _fucking_ lobster, for fucks sake, and now you’re saying that you’ve been wanting to go _fuckin’_ vegetarian for a fuckin’ _while already?_ Are you bullshitting me, Macca?”

Paul, mid-putting tomatoes in a plastic bag, frowned and glared at John when several parents pulled their children away from the pair. John’s little profanity-filled tirade apparently did not go very appreciated by the other shoppers, and he spotted a guy in the Tesco-uniform peak his head around the corner of the crisps-aisle. “Can you calm down a little?” he scowled, twisting the bag shut and putting it into the cart, before moving on to the avocados. They were all far from being a little ripe, and he sighed.

“Calm down…?” John spluttered, “ _you_ calm the fuck down!”

“I am calm,” Paul answered, now filling up a plastic baggie with green beans. He glanced at their cart, and a slow smirk made its way across his pretty face. “Anyroad, you insisting about hating this _vegetarian route_ we’ve taken is not entirely believable, babe.”

John paused, red-cheeked and still fuming, before gritting his teeth. “What on _earth_ are you on about?”

Paul pointed one particularly long green bean at the cart. “You’ve put an awfully lot of _vegetarian bullshite_ in here for us to buy.”

It was true. There were at least seven different packets of meat-substitutes in the cart, from bean-burgers to fake chicken, and John started chewing on his lower lip as he took the sight in. The flush in his face no longer from anger but instead from embarrassment, he marched away from a laughing Macca with his hands deep in his pockets.

The dairy aisle was completely vacant and he rubbed his burning cheeks on his shoulder, quickly passing his gaze over the cartons of milk and yoghurt, settling on the butter at the end. He huffed when he heard the wheels of the cart over the tiled flooring and turned around with an eyeroll.

“Why are you so embarrassed?” Paul asked with a grin. He took his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it, probably to check the list of needed groceries Ringo had been so kind to send in their group chat, quickly typed something and then grabbed some milk from the large fridge. “It’s just food, Lenny-”

“Can we drink milk, then?” he snapped, interrupting Paul. He knew it was quite rude - and annoying, judging by the slight twitch near Macca’s right eye - but he couldn’t help himself. “I mean, milk comes from cows, don’t it?”

“You’re confusing vegetarian with vegan, John.”

John blinked. “What the fuck is the difference?”

“A vegan doesn’t eat any animal products. So no meat, but also nothing that comes from animals. Everything they eat is plant based.” Paul squinted at him, shaking the milk carton a couple of times. “Vegetarians eat animal by-products, just not _animals._ So dairy and eggs are fine for us to eat.”

 “...oh.”

“Yes, _oh._ Now tell me why you’re so bothered by it even though I’m not forcing _you_ nor _Ringo_ to eat solely vegetarian.” Paul paused as he placed the milk carton in the cart and walked over to the dessert section. “I only asked you to help me shop for vegetarian stuff while George is in class and Ringo is at work, and if you’d give the lifestyle a try for, like, _a day_. I’m not forcing you to give up meat or become vegetarian. ”

“I’m not- I might’ve-”

“You might’ve _what?”_

John fumbled with the zipper of his leather jacket, shuffling in place. He sighed, rolled his eyes, and turned his face away from Paul’s questioning gaze, mumbling something under his breath. He spotted Paul smiling.

“What’s that, Lennon?” he asked, grabbing a carton of yoghurt and some plastic custard cups from the refrigerator. “Didn’t quite catch that, love.”

John sighed loudly, mumbling incoherently under his breath again. Paul approached their cart, placing the products inside and punching John’s arm good heartedly. “Come’n, mate, speak up. I won’t judge too hard.”

“I might’ve jumped to conclusions,” John mumbled, looking away from Paul’s grin. _“Sorry.”_

“Thank you for your honesty,” Paul bumped his shoulder with John’s with a grin, and John’s heart skipped a beat. “It’s fine mate. You’re just a dick by nature, can’t do anything about that.”

“Hey!” John protested weakly. “Rude.”

“Don’t try to ignore the truth, Johnny-boy.” Paul called from over his shoulder as he pushed the cart further through the aisle. “Anyway, we need cereal. What kind do you want?”

 

**_private chat_ **

_“Macca” online_

_“Goerge” online_

**_12:01_ **

_Goerge:_ has he calmed down a little yet?

 _Macca:_ yea mate it’s fine! He’s positive towards it now

 _Macca:_ well, to a degree

 _Goerge:_ ‘a degree’??

 _Macca:_ you know how he is

 _Macca:_ anyway he flipped his shite because he jumped to conclusions as per usual but it’s all good

 _Goerge:_ alright

 _Goerge:_ what have you lot gotten?

****

**_12:07_ **

_Macca:_ sorry I had to pay

 _Macca:_ wait

 _Goerge:_? ok?

 

**_12:09_ **

_Macca:_ alright he’s getting ciggies now and the row is gigantic so I can talk

 _Macca:_ we’ve gotten an ungodly amount of bean burgers and all that shit

 _Macca:_ and a lot more vegetables n stuff

 _Macca:_ and I’ve managed to convince him to get some tofu

 _Goerge:_ holy shit you did??

 _Goerge:_ amazing

 _Macca:_ I KNOW I’m brilliant

 _Goerge:_ humble too

 _Macca:_ you know it babe ;)

 _Goerge:_ ;)

 _Goerge:_ anyway I gotta get back to class, lecture is starting again

 _Goerge:_ have fun in the bus! we’ll discuss recipes later?

 _Macca:_ yea!!! thanks luv, don’t die in there x

 _Goerge:_ can’t promise anything x

 

“Who are ya textin’?”

John appeared behind him like a fuckin’ ghost, making Paul almost drop his phone. He rapidly locked it. “Oh, nothing love,” Paul swipes his fringe back and looks at John through his eyelashes, accepting the new pack of fags John gives him. “Just lookin’ at some meal ideas, tha’s all.”

John, ever the sceptic(rightly so at this instance, but he didn’t need to know that), sniffed and stuck his nose in the air.  “Sure,” he drawled, and he broke the seal on the pack of Marlboro’s before taking one cigarette out and putting it between his teeth. He stuffed the pack into his back pocket, and squinted at Paul. “Anyroad, you ready to head back? I’d like to eat lunch sometime soon.”

Paul busied himself with placing the pack of cigs in his coat and his phone in his back pocket, nodding. “We can stop by a bakery, I suppose. We just missed the right bus, and a new one isn’t coming for another thirty minutes.”

“Are ya serious?” John huffed at Paul’s nod and grabbed one of the bags with groceries with a sneer, chewing on his fag in frustration. “Fuck’s sake. Stupid fuckin’ public transport, fuckin’ middle-of-nowhere bull _shite-”_

“There’s no need for vulgar words, John,” Paul commented drily, reaching out to grab the other bag. “It’s just the bus.”

“I’ll use as much fuckin’ profanity as I’ll bloody well _like,_ Macca,” the older boy sneered, heatedly stepping outside. “And I’m fucking hungry.” John paused a couple of feet away from the store, setting down the bag and rummaging through his pockets with a frown. Then, with a frustrated sigh: “You don’t per any chance have a light, do ya babe?”

Paul, too, set down his bag of groceries and fished a zippo out of his pocket with a cocked brow, lighting John’s cigarette with a sigh. “Like I said, we can easily stop by a bakery,” he said after he’d stuffed his zippo back into his coat. “There’s enough time to get a sandwich.”

“Is there?”

Paul rolled his eyes at the sheer acidity in John’s voice, annoyance sparking . “What d’ya want me to do, Lennon? I’m not fuckin’ Merlin, alright? Can’t just say some magic word and have a bloody BLT appear in my hand, can I?”

John stared at Paul for a little while, biting his lip. “s’alright, s’alright,” John then said, “I can pop back into the shop and just get us some ready-made sandwiches, it’s fine-”

“Is it now?” Paul burst out, “or is it gonna be too expensive?”

John paused, wide-eyed, burning cig dangling between his long fingers. He blinked twice and swallowed, glancing at the automatic doors of the store behind them. “I’d reckon the bakery is more expensive, love,” he muttered. Paul’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline, and John grinned sheepishly.

With a harsh exhale through his nose, Paul snapped a _“stay here”_ at John before twirling on his heels and racing back into the Tesco. There John stood, cig abandoned between his fingers, two stuffed shopping bags next to his feet, and a weird feeling in his chest. It was sometimes rather hard to gauge his Macca, but he knew for sure that he was the only one capable of making the boy switch moods so quickly. And _alright,_ sure, he could be an dick and quite annoying, but sometimes he could still marvel at the fact that Paul could switch from soft and caring to sharp and annoyed in seconds after John pushed one button too many.

His cigarette had been burned out(and essentially unsmoked) for about five minutes before Paul returned, still miffed judging by the expression on his face but less so than six minutes ago. He picked up his shopping bag silently and walked in the direction of a small bench placed close to the shop, mentioning for John to follow with one full hand.

Paul had grabbed, to John’s surprise, John’s favourite: bacon-and-egg-salad on white bread. The fact that he’d chosen bacon of all things was probably just as surprising as grabbing John’s favourite, considering his recently developed and thus still quite strong vegetarian-phase, but John wouldn’t complain. He unwrapped the sandwich silently and bit into it, stomach screaming being able to digest something.

It didn’t take long before both boys had completely consumed their small sandwiches and John crushed the packaging up in his fist, mulling about what he should say. Paul rose and extended his hand. John blinked a couple of times, confused.

“I’m just going to throw that away,” Paul clarified, pointing at the wrapper still scrunched up in John’s hand, and John nodded in reply. He handed the packaging over and watched Paul walk off before  lifting his hand to his mouth and biting down on the nail on his thumb anxiously. Paul _really_ was impossible to read sometimes, especially now with those stupidly pretty eyes all blank and face all neutral. It was hard not to feel like a dick about, well, doing _anything_ that deserved one of Paul’s blank stares.

And he _had_ been a dick, John knew; even if his episodes of _being_ a dick could come out of nowhere, he did always realise that he’d been an arse. He stared at Paul as the other boy walked back from the rubbish bins across the square, unlit cigarette between his lips. _God_ , he could drive John crazy sometimes, and John had no doubt in his mind that it was the other way ‘round more often than not as well.

Paul sat down next to him again, smoothing out his jeans - that did not need to be smoothed out, they were skin tight for fuck’s sake - and lighting the cigarette, puffing away. John had stopped biting on his nails and started ruining his bottom lip instead, not feeling quite up to smoking himself.

They sat in silence for a little while, John watching and not-watching as Paul smoked, fidgeting with his fingers. Then:

“Hey,” John muttered, “Did ya paint yer nails?”

Paul stuck the half-smoked cig between his teeth and spread out his right hand, admiring the black and glittery nail-polish. “Yeah. D’ya like it? Couldn’t do my left hand though, little too clumsy for that.”

“It’s pretty,” John replied slowly, reaching out to swipe his thumb over the black pinky-nail. “Looks a bit edgy, as well.”

“Thought so,” Paul sounded a little triumphant. “Also reckoned I might start wearin’ makeup to gigs, ‘n all that. Might cover of me babyface a little.”

A smile pulled at John’s lips. “It’ll ruin your image,” he said. “You’re the cute one, remember? Smudged eyeliner would fit better with George. Quiet ‘n mysterious ‘n shite like that.”

Paul barked out a laugh, and all of a sudden everything was okay again. John ignored the little skip his heart did at the sight of Paul’s smile, Paul punched John’s shoulder playfully, and John gently pushed him back. They grinned at each other silently for a couple of seconds, before John averted his eyes and kicked at a pebble.

“I was kind of an arse, just now,” he muttered, glancing at Paul through his peripheral vision. “I’m sorry.”

Paul shuffled closer and leaned against him, shoulders knocking against each other. “You were,” he affirmed, chuckling at John’s snort, “and I was being a little bitch afterwards. Guess we’re both just arsefucks, huh?”

John closed his eyes and hummed in agreement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU FOR READING, AND I HOPE YOU ENJOYED!! XX  
> So this was again a lot of text, and less humour... bc mclennon. I am TRASH for mclennon.  
> ANYWAY this chap was inspired by Nimiliko's comment on the last chapter, and then the part "this is my internal canon on how goerge ™ became vegetarian." bc,,,, yes??? Exactly?? Sheer genius. Thank you, my love. 
> 
> SO this is also a very smooth call for throwing ideas at me. My humour-promt source(whatsapp messages between me and my friends, or genuine convo's that happened irl) is running dry bc I'm one antisocial bitch, and I need me some prompts so I can give them a funny twist and like, not accidentally create a plot. Let me pull a Chekov and have literally NO advancement in my plot whatsoever. 
> 
> So, please. Give me ideas. I beg of you.  
> xx


	10. E G G boi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ringo has a slip-up, george and john make cookies, john's confused, geo's a good friend, paul is hot.  
> it's all valid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO. I APOLOGIZE FOR MY ABSENCE. The last time I updated was,,,,??? TEN days ago, oof. I was busy writing my angstfic in geo's perspective, "little darlin", that you should totally read!!!   
> anyway That's why you get a LARGER chapter. over 4000 words on word. nice.  
> all things aside, john lennon had a hard childhood that most likely presented itself in issues he later had as an adult. even if this fic is intended as crack, i couldn't ignore that entirely, so there's a tiny(very very tiny, like less than one sentence and it's presented as "other stuff") mention of it. also slight internalised homophobia, but no slurs because fuck that. just a lot of "i'm not gay".  
> also, i know george never expressed being bisexual or hinted at it, but it sort of made sense to me in this fic? i personally relate to how this geo feels about his sexuality.  
> and i used to make shortbread-ish cookies(or the dutch version of it) all the time as a kid, because it's so easy to make. we call it "zandkoekjes"(literally sandcookies) because of its crumbly texture. it's a great snack haahah.  
> anywho, i sincerely hope you enjoy :)  
> xx

**_groupchat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_4 online_

**_12:47_ **

_Ringo:_ hhhhhhh i want to die

 _Goerge:_??? why???

 _Ringo:_ i was refilling some shelves just now and my manager approached me and said “you’ve been at it since 9 richard, go have your lunch break” and i

 _Ringo:_ hnnnnnnnnnn

 _Macca:_ sounds promising

 _Goerge:_ I’m sure it’s not that bad

 _Ringo:_ i said,,,,

 _Ringo:_ “thanks mum”

 _Goerge:_ hfdafafa oh my god

 _Lemon:_ HAHAHAH

 _Macca:_ oh shit ahahahahah

 _Ringo:_ i’m not sure if i want to show my face to her again

 _Goerge:_ yea you should probably quit

 _Ringo:_ god Your Mind

 _Ringo:_ but idk i wanna eat so??? no

 _Ringo:_ i want to continue being able to afford living with you lot

 _Macca:_ aww that’s so sweet!

 _Goerge:_ adorable

 _Macca:_ if it’s any consolation John was just catapulted through the entirety of the bus again

 _Goerge:_ jkldfajafdf

 _Lemon:_ its not fUNNY

 _Lemon:_ me bleedin nose hurts aND I FELL ON TOP OF THE EGGS

 _Macca:_ not ours, mind you

 _Macca:_ the eggs of a random lady

 _Macca:_ I have never heard someone screech so loud

 _Lemon:_ dont even know WHY shed put fuckin eggs in the middle of the aisle without supervision

 _Ringo:_ super… vision?

 _Lemon:_ YOU KONW WHAT I MEAN

 _Goerge:_ konw

 _Ringo:_ konw

 _Macca:_ konw

 _Lemon:_ FUCK OFF

 _Lemon:_ anyway im fuckin covered in egg, head to fuckin toe

 _Macca:_ he broke one egg in her carton of twelve and she was so angry she started throwing eggs at him and got thrown off the bus by our very irked driver

 _Lemon:_ she got what was comin to her

 _Lemon:_ bc IM COVERED IN EGG

 _Ringo:_ it be like that sometimes

 _Ringo:_ anyway lunch is over BYE LADS

 _Lemon:_ its not my fault that i lost my balance and accidentally fell face first in her eggs

 _Ringo:_ john have fun with ur eggbody ya sexy fuck

 _Ringo:_ xx

 _Lemon:_ i hate you

 _Macca:_ bye ritchie!

 _Goerge:_ toodles xx

 _Ringo:_ <3

 _Goerge:_ so john did the children scream at the sight of ye

 _Lemon:_ wHY would they do that???

 _Goerge:_ idk

 _Goerge:_ eggman

 _Lemon:_ i

 _Lemon:_ i am the eggman?

 _Goerge:_ yes

 _Lemon:_ are you high

 _Macca:_ honestly that sounds exactly like the type of bullshit you’d come up with John

 _Lemon:_ yea but when i do it its gENIUS but now its not

 _Goerge:_ go fall in another carton of eggs eggboy

 _Lemon:_ have i been downgraded to eggboy now

 

**_Goerge_ changed _Lemon_ ’s name to _Eggboy_**

_Goerge:_ yes.

 _Eggboy:_ fuck s

 _Macca:_ the driver braked again out of nowhere and eggboy was too busy typing so he fell

 _Macca:_ again

 _Goerge:_ jkdflajdf

 _Goerge:_ how I wish I am there with you right now

 _Eggboy:_ * fucks sake geo

 _Eggboy:_ anyway of course u do, u sadistic fuck

 _Goerge:_ why must I be in class

 _Goerge:_ I don’t even like college

 _Goerge:_ who the fuck is interested in what some alcoholic white dude with chlamydia high on cocaine and heroin wrote two centuries ago

 _Goerge:_ I should just like, quit and start workin in a supermarket or something

 _Macca:_ firstly, you already work at a supermarket

 _Goerge:_ hm

 _Macca:_ and secondly,

 _Macca:_ I distinctly remember your dad saying he’ll write you out of his will if you don’t at least try to get a degree

 _Goerge:_ shite u rite

 _Eggboy:_ u should write that down

 _Goerge:_ you should write eggman down

 _Eggboy:_ hnhh

 _Eggboy:_ i just might

 

**_15:01_ **

_Ringo:_ i just spotted a man walk straight into a pole

 _Goerge:_ that was me you piece of shit

 _Ringo:_ seldon have i laughed this hard

 _Goerge:_ firstly, seldon?

 _Eggboy:_ seldon.

 _Macca:_ seldon.

 _Goerge:_ secondly, you panicked for a good four minutes, screeching "GEO CAN YOU HEAR ME" in my ear

 _Ringo:_ you yelled "not anymore" back

 _Goerge:_ I did!

 _Goerge:_ I'm deaf now.

 _Eggboy:_ gOd how i wish i had been there

 _Goerge:_ sadist

 _Eggboy:_ right back @ ya, harrison

 _Macca:_ but are you okay geo? no concussion or anything?

 _Goerge:_ nah I'm fine, just got a bump the size of mount everest on me forehead

 _Ringo:_ but let's say john's not alone anymore

 _Eggboy:_ wat

 _Goerge:_ wat

 _Ringo:_ as our darlin geo can now be called,,,,

 _Ringo:_ egghead

 _Macca:_ oh my god

 _Eggboy:_ thats the worst joke ive heard all year i love it

 _Goerge:_ Ritchie I fuckin hate you

 

**_02:04_ **

_Goerge:_ hey there demons

 _Goerge:_ it’s me

 _Goerge:_ ya boi

 _Eggboy:_ wow mood

 _Goerge:_ honestly if Satan’s little helpers would take me now I wouldn’t mind

 _Eggboy:_ …

 _Eggboy:_ thats a lil depressing even for u geo

 _Eggboy:_ whats wrong?

 _Goerge:_ I’m just sad

 _Goerge:_ I get sad

 _Goerge:_ I’m a sad person

 _Goerge:_ :P

 _Eggboy:_ shit me 2

 _Eggboy:_ :P

 _Eggboy:_ wanna talk about it?

 _Goerge:_ … (¬_¬)

 _Goerge:_ who are you and what did you do to john

 _Eggboy:_ how the fuck do u do that

 _Eggboy:_ also im me??? just me??? what are u on

 _Goerge:_ ب_ب

 _Goerge:_ suspicious

 _Eggboy:_ HOW

 _Goerge:_ the john I konw would NEVER be nice like that

 _Eggboy:_ KONW

 _Eggboy:_ pfff

 _Goerge:_ (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) there he is

 _Goerge:_ did macca astral-project into yer skinny arse or what

 _Eggboy:_ anal?

 _Goerge:_ fjalfa JOHN

 _Eggboy:_ HEY IT SOUNDS LIKE THAT

 _Goerge:_ IT SOUNDS LIKE THAT BECAUSE YOU WANT IT TO BE THAT TWAT

 _Eggboy:_ ……………………………….

 _Eggboy:_ DO U WANT TO TALK ABOUT OUR BAD MENTAL STATES OR NAH

 _Eggboy:_ CAUSE IVE ALREADY GOT THE KETTLE ON

 _Goerge:_ FINE

 _Eggboy:_ :)

 _Eggboy:_ neat!

 _Goerge:_ maybe we can also bake some biscuits or something

 _Goerge:_ in my experience slapping some dough generally makes you feel a lot better

 _Eggboy:_ bdsm?

 _Goerge:_ holy virgin mary mother of god

 _Eggboy:_ u literally,,, put it right there

 _Eggboy:_ RIGHT THERE

 _Eggboy:_ and yet u blame me

 _Goerge:_ ლ(ಠ益ಠლ)

 _Eggboy:_ seriously mate how the fuck do u do that

 _Goerge:_ copy

 _Goerge:_ paste

 _Eggboy:_ … just come downstairs

 _Eggboy:_ ive got a shortbread recipe opened in a tab and weve got all the ingredents

 _Goerge:_ ingredents

 _Goerge:_ i n g r e d e n t s

 _Eggboy:_ COME DOWNSTAIRS u awful fuck

 _Goerge:_ (ಠ⌣ಠ) kay

 

“Alright,” John muttered, squinting at his phone screen and leaning in a little closer to make the letters more legible. He huffed and blew his fringe out of his eyes; he’d showered right after arriving at the apartment to wash the egg off, so the mop on top of his head was a right mess and impossible to style being free of all the wax he usually plonked in it. “We need 320- no, _340_ grams of butter.”

George, blessed with equally as fluffy hair,  grabbed said ingredient from the counter and slowly cut it into pieces, dropping each individual piece in the bowl on the scale until he reached the desired weight. “I don’t know why you aren’t just wearin’ your glasses,” he said drily, already having seen that they needed 200 grams of sugar and stretching to grab it from the shelf in the cupboard above them. “‘s not like I haven’t seen you with ‘em before.”

“I don’t like ‘em,” John muttered through gritted teeth. He put the butter into their mixing bowl and put the other bowl back on the scale, eyeing the sugar in George’s hands with a small frown. “Tha’s 200 grams, Geo.”

“Alright,” the younger one answered, pouring the sugar into the bowl. “But I’m serious. Yer fuckin’ blind, mate.”

“I can put in me lenses,” John offered. He grabbed a fork from their cutlery drawer and started to mash the butter under the prongs, mentioning with his head for George to pour the sugar in. They were smart enough to _not_ use the electric mixer, knowing that the sound would most likely wake both Ringo and Paul. And though Ringo was probably the nicest, sweetest, most _understanding_ lad John had ever known, he was none of those things when suddenly woken up in the middle of the night. He’d done it once, accidentally, during one of those insomnia-filled nights: he was silently jamming to some Elvis when he’d kicked against his desk, hard, and screeched a _fuck._ George had been awake too, and had merely laughed; Paul had been concerned.

Ringo had just about thrown him down the stairs for waking him up.

“Anyway,” he continued after George merely shook his head and shot him a glare, weighing out the correct amount of flour and salt(440 grams of flour and 1/4th of a teaspoon of salt, if anyone’s interested). “We’re not here to talk about my shitty eyesight, right? You were sad.”

George pursed his lips and eyed the sugar-and-butter mixture. He closed the bag of flour. “You said you were sad too.”

“You first.”

George was silent, still staring at the bad mashing John was doing in the bowl, and John sighed, stopping. At that, the younger boy did look up, dark eyes large, and John squinted at him. “What kind of sad were you talking about, then?”

George shrugged, playing with the lid of the bottle vanilla extract. “It’s not like I rarely feel happy y’know? ‘cause I do. I just tend to worry a lot about everything and get trapped in my own mind for hours and it’s shite. The only way to get my mind off something like that is when I just, do something. Like doing coursework, or writin’ a song, or” he gestured at the slowly forming dough, “baking. Thing is, then I can’t sleep. If I lay in bed and close my eyes the worries come back. Like that whole _“what’s the point of us being alive”_ stuff from a couple of days ago. Paulie set me head straight, and that helped me sleep. But then out of nowhere I can start worrying again and it’s fucked.”

John nodded. “That’s what I have too. Like sure, there’s other stuff that you of course know about” he shot George a sad smile, who smiled back in equal fashion, “but there’s some stuff that just keeps on going about in me head, y’know? And currently it’s just one thing in particular that keeps coming back. Add the vanilla, please?”

Pouring in about a tablespoon of vanilla extract, George pursed his lips again and glanced at John from under his lashes. “And what might that recurring worry be, then?”

“Ah, well, y’know.” John’s heart started to beat a little faster, and he wiggled his fingers, mixing the vanilla extract through the dough. “It’s a bit _odd,_ maybe to worry about it this day and age, but I can’t really help it y’know.”

“Hm?”

John flushed. “Well, y’know, I erm, kind of…” George raised his eyebrows questioningly, and John missed the knowing twinkle in his eye, averting his eyes with a sigh. “ _You know_ how’s it kind of a joke that I and, erm, _Paul-_ that we’ve got some, _y’know-”_

He snuck a peak at George again, who was just smiling. “You’ve got some…” he pressed, leaning forward a bit.

John frowned, cheeks feeling like they were burning. _“Somethin’_ going on?”

“You mean with the pet-names ‘n stuff?” George walked over to the kitchen table and took a sip of his tea. “Tha’s not a big thing, anyway, right? I call you _“love”_ too,” he said. “Dough’s not gonna knead itself though, _John love._ ”

John started kneading again with a small scowl. “Yeah but- we call each other _“love”_ and _“darling”_ and, I don’t know, _“hot stuff”_ jokingly,” he muttered. “But-”

“But it’s not like that with Macca,” George stated with a smile. “It feels real.”

John made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Yes. But I’m not _, y’know-”_

“Gay?”

“Gay,” he affirmed, “I’m not gay. I like birds too- I _love_ birds.”

“Hm.”

“They’re amazin’, y’know, and they smell great-”

“Hm.”

“But like-” John huffed again, staring at the dough in the bowl with a deep frown, “Paul, then, smells great too.”

“He does,” George agreed.

 “But I’m not gay,” John repeated. He picked the gold-coloured mass up and kneaded it into a ball with both hands, before dropping it back in the bowl again. “I’m not.”

“I’m not saying you are.” George threw back the rest of his tea and stepped towards the kitchen counter, opening the bag of flour again and lightly dusting the surface of the counter and a rolling pin. “But have you liked other boys before? Small crushes or something?”

“I don’t know…”

George fake-gasped as he plonked the dough onto the counter, glancing at John and blinking his eyes. “Not even on _me?”_

Feeling his cheeks grow even hotter, John scowled. “I hate you,” he told George, and washed the leftover dough and flower and general stickiness off his hands with some hot water. “Like I said, _I’m not gay.”_

“I’m not gay either, but I had a crush on Paul when I was eleven.” George squinted at him, and rammed the rolling pin against the dough ball. “And I’ve had crushes on both birds and lads since. I’ve had _sex_ with birds and lads since. He was my _bisexual awakening_ , if you will.”

John blinked. _“Bisexual?”_ he paused. Then: _“Sex?”_

“Yea,” George stated, casually starting to roll out the dough. “Means you’re attracted to both genders. Or you’re pansexual, which means that you’re attracted to all, I think? I haven’t done much research. I just know that I’m physically and romantically attracted to both genders, that people call that bisexuality, and that I don’t really give a shite about what box I fit in.”

“So you’re… not bisexual?” _and did George just say he had sex with Paul!?_

“People could classify me as bisexual, but like I said, I don’t care about the boxes.” George looked at John and chuckled. “You don’t have to look so constipated, y’know. And no,” he added with a smirk, “I have never had sex with Paul, and never will. He’s my best friend.” John felt himself relax and he sighed, taking a sip of his tea. “We just kissed once.”

John choked on his sip. _“What?”_

George’s grin was dangerous. “I’m not sure that’s my story to tell, but I can assure you nothing else happened. Ask him about it.”

“Why’d you never tell me, though?” he was a little hurt about that, even though he never asked. “We’re best friends, aren’t we? We’ve known each other for four years-”

“It never came up, and everytime I shagged a guy you were too busy downing shots or staring at our Macca to notice.” George shrugged and measured the height of the flattened dough. He apparently deemed it good, because he grabbed the baking sheet covered with baking paper, and the dough-cutter. “Besides, I don’t think it’s a large part of me. It’s more like, _“hi I’m George Harrison, I play guitar in a band, I’m a nervous wreck, I like food, and I’m from Liverpool”_ and then at the end of the list it’s like _“oh yeah and I’m attracted to both genders!”._ Like it’s not-”

“A defining part of your personality?”

“Yea.” George pressed the biscuit-cutter into the dough and wiggled it, before lifting the thing and pushing the biscuit onto the baking sheet. A perfectly shaped star plonked down. “It’s not bad if it _is,_ y’know. I’ve met people who relished in being not-straight, and that’s completely fine too.” George shot John a small smirk. “But, you like Paul?”

John looked away.

“I literally cannot judge you, remember?” George cut another star-shape out of the dough. “With Macca being my first man-crush.”

He sighed. “That’s different.”

“How is it different?” George glanced at John with a frown. “You said that the pet-names felt _real_ instead of like a joke like with me. You said he smells nice.”

 _“You_ said he smells nice too!”

George grinned at him toothily. “Touché.” There was a pause. “But I still don’t see how it’s so different. A crush is a crush. Paul is awfully pretty. I’d be surprised if you said you _didn’t_ have a little crush on him.”

“I’m not gay.” John repeated, albeit a little weakly. “I’m not.”

“So you wouldn’t take it up the arse? Can feel pretty good, y’know-”

_“George!”_

“Sorry,” George laughed. “Anyroad, whether ya do have a crush on Paul or ya don’t, you’re feeling things, ‘n tha’s fine.” He gave John a wink. “Paul is cute, no-one would blame you.”

“Hm,” John hummed, downing his tea. “Are ya done yet?”

George gave him a blank stare. “Do I look like I’m done, eggboy?”

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“No.”

John grabbed another star-shaped cookie cutter and started working alongside George. They made quick progress; after all the shapes had been cut, george re-rolled the leftover dough and cut about 6 more stars out of it. After they’d plonked the baking tray in the oven and set a timer for 20 minutes, George rolled two small balls out of the very last pieces of dough and offered one to John.

“Raw flour is bad for your stomach,” John stated after he’d eaten the dough.

George grinned before popping his ball in his mouth. “But it’s good though.”

They made themselves another cup of tea and sat down at the kitchen table, a pleasant silence between the two of them. George seemed in a world of his own, leaning back a little in his chair and staring off into the distance - or the darkness of the hallway. _He’s handsome_ , John thought, biting his lip. Prominent cheekbones, great smile, great eyes. But Paul’s eyes were prettier His smile too, especially when he grinned really wide and his eyes got all squinty. But still, John mused, George could easily be the most handsome out of the four of them.

Just a general opinion, of course. Paul would probably say the same, and Ringo. George was the type of person who’d lean towards a bird( _or lad,_ he realised) and flash a smile, and he’d have them wrapped around his little finger. It was quite a recent development, though, because Paul used to be the one who easily flirted his way inside every pub in Liverpool, especially when he was still underage and needed to. John remembered it clearly; Paul with his leather jacket and Elvis-hair, looking at a big and scary bouncer through his long eyelashes and smiling a _I’ll-suck-ya-off-_ smile. John would always get a weird feeling in his gut whenever Paul did that, and would drag him inside violently by the elbow as soon as the bouncer would smile and let him in with a wink. _Was that…?_

He was about to open his mouth and ask George a very, _very_ rhetorical question, when all of a sudden the sound of the toilet being flushed burst through their little peace and quiet. John’s heart jumped; George, startled, spilled hot tea all over his hand.

 _“Fuck!”_ he screeched, jumping upright and running to the tap. He opened it and stuck his hand under the cold stream, and John heard him sigh in relief. Then, stumbling.

The door of the kitchen opened with a squeak and two large, hazel eyes blinked slowly in his direction. “What the _fuck_ ’re the lot of ye doin’?” Paul asked, voice hoarse with sleep. He stepped into the kitchen and John just about choked on air.

 _Of course_ the little _shite_ was shirtless, pair of boxer shorts low on his hips. John ripped his eyes away from his happy trail, coughing, and looked Paul straight in the eyes. “Makin’ cookies,” he wheezed, pointing at the oven.

Paul narrowed his eyes and dragged his hand through his tousled hair. “Isn’t it 3AM?”

“2:51, actually,” came George’s voice. John’s head snapped in his direction and George was looking at the both of them, teary eyed but smiling. “It’s 2:51AM.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?” Paul asked weakly. “How- why-”

“Couldn’t sleep,” George shrugged.

Paul looked at John, who flushed under Paul’s gaze. “Ditto.”

“Insomniacs,” Paul groaned, and he stepped further into the kitchen to sit down on one of the chairs. “Make us a cuppa, yea, John love?”

“Sure babe,” John muttered, and he slowly rose to grab a cup out of the cupboard. “Earl grey?”

“I’m feeling up for mint.” Paul answered drily. He glanced at the oven. “Are they almost finished?”

“They need five more minutes,” John answered, filling the cup with hot water and dipping the teabag in. He handed it over to Paul. “Here ya go - careful, it’s hot.”

Paul smiled at him in thanks, and John’s heart stopped for a moment before he carefully grinned back. He sat down, still staring at Paul with large eyes. “Why’re _you_ up, then?”

“Had to take a leak,” Paul shrugged, blowing on the hot liquid. John’s gaze slid to his mouth. “Can’t believe I’ll be rewarded with cookies, though.”

“Thank yer bladder.”

“I will.”

George groaned audibly. “This is literally the weirdest flirting I’ve ever witnessed,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Where’s the burn cream, lads?” he then asked, raising his voice a little.

“Pantry,” John answered, distracted.

“Next to the vodka, in the first-aid kit,” Paul added helpfully, equally as distracted.

George sighed but walked to the pantry, blowing gently on his burned hand. _“Gay,”_ he hissed at John as he walked past, tugging harshly at a cowlick with his good hand. John, the daft git, didn’t even fuckin’ _notice,_ and continued staring at Macca with heart-eyes.

It took George all of his willpower not to roll his eyes.

Not that anyone would fuckin’ _notice,_ anyway.

He’d just returned with the burn cream and was carefully smearing it onto his hand when the timer went off. It echoed through their kitchen and Paul jumped, while John scrambled to turn the timer off.

“I think the cookies are done,” he said sheepishly, clumsily rising to his feet and bumping into George on his way to the oven, muttering sorry’s. He opened the oven just slightly, peeking in, and deemed them done.

“Alright, you ready?”

George muttered an unenthusiastic _“yea”_ and Paul whooped, while John pulled the baking sheet out of the oven(wearing oven gloves, of course), and placed it onto the kitchen table.

It was a quite sad sight, really. The cookies looked like they’d been melted, warped stars spread across the tan paper, still steaming, and Paul tapped one carefully. “They’re still soft,” he announced, and George shot him a glare.

“That’s the way they’re supposed to be, ye daft git,” he muttered. “They’re soft until they cool off. I suppose we could’ve let the dough get a little colder, though. The butter was too soft so they lost their form.”

“How the fuck do you know that?”

“How the fuck don’t you?”

John poked at another cookie. “I want one now.”

Paul sighed, drinking the last bit of his tea, and stood up. “It’ll be good in the morning, according to Geo. But I’m off to bed, then. I’m exhausted.”

“Night, Macca,” George mumbled, concentrated on swiping a new layer of burn cream on his hand.

“Night, Paulie,” John said, shooting him a smile.

Paul smiled back, eyes crinkling, and John’s heart skipped a beat. “Goodnight, Johnny,” he said softly, staring him right in the eye, before lifting his hand in a slow wave. “-and Geo, night Geo!”

He disappeared. John, not noticing George’s knowing smirk, continued to stare at the door with a lovestruck expression his face. They were silent again, George tapping the cookies every other minute to check how much they'd cooled off and drinking at least three glasses of water, and John sighing wistfully every so often. After about ten minutes George picked a hardened cookie from the baking sheet and popped it in his mouth hesitantly.

"Tha's alright," he muttered through a mouthful of shortbread, a satisfied gleam in his eyes, "tha's not too bad, actually."

John seemed to pay him now mind, clutching his rapidly cooling cup of tea in his hand. “Geo?” John then said lowly, still staring at the door.

George stuffed another biscuit in his mouth. “Hm?”

“I think I might have a crush on Paul.”

_“Oh do you now!?"_

**_groupchat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_4 online_

**_09:45_ **

_Macca:_ cookies are delicious lads, thanks!

 _Ringo:_ what does one mean healthy breakfast?? it is this.

 _Goerge:_ stars were for you, ritchie <3

 _Ringo:_ <3

 _Eggboy:_ ur disgusting.

 _Goerge:_ you’re one to talk, Mr. Heart-Eyes.

 _Eggboy:_ fffffffffFUCK off

 _Macca:_ … what?

 _Macca:_ lads??


	11. houseplants.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Macca: anyway we share ciggies, blunts, bottles and cups all the time? I’m just not that bothered by it  
> Macca: remember Geo that one time you spit in my soup out of sheer bitterness and spite because that’s just who you are and I just kept on eating  
> Goerge: I do that was traumatizing  
> **  
> geo's an ass, john gets ANGERY, macca's a mum and ringo's just generally exhausted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at some point in this chap Geo sends a picture, and since I'm incompetent with technology and I also think it won't really fit with the way this fic is formatted, i'm just going to tell you what to do.  
> Idk do it now or later, but open an extra tab in your browser and search "penis tree manuscript" on google images. or bing images. or yahoo images. or whatever the hell you use. just do it but don't look at the actual pictures yet, come back to that when you see the words "george sent a picture". you'll thank me later.

**_groupchat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_4 online_

 

**_10:14_ **

_Ringo:_ ay there, im about to start workin but i just wanted to share these

 _Ringo:_ me mam sent me some old pics

 

 **_Ringo_ ** **sent a picture**

_Ringo:_ look at me baby face!!

 _Macca:_ oh my god that’s adorable

 _Macca:_ look at you

 _Goerge:_ awwww

 _Eggboy:_ oh my god

 _Eggboy:_ u havent changed one bit

 _Ringo:_ dunno if that’s a compliment or not??

 _Eggboy:_ it is

 _Macca:_ means you’re cute!!

 _Eggboy:_ exactly

 _Goerge:_ yea!!!

 _Ringo:_ :)

 _Ringo:_ love y’all loads

 _Macca:_ <3 <3

 _Goerge:_ aww

 _Goerge:_ GOD i wish i was still that age

 _Eggboy:_ dont we all? the world was much simpler then

 _Goerge:_ gosh those were the days weren’t they

 _Goerge:_ you could like ignore everybody

 _Goerge:_ and nobody would give a shit

 _Ringo:_ ya know technically you could still do that

 _Ringo:_ but you’d just be considered a gigantic fuckin wankstain  

 _Goerge:_ true

 _Goerge:_ but you’d need people to ignore

 _Goerge:_ and I don’t have those

 _Eggboy:_ then what are ritchie, macca, and i? houseplants?

 _Ringo:_ jjkfdal

 _Goerge:_ god yes

 _Goerge:_ i love plants so that’s a perfect allegory

 _Ringo:_ FJKDLAJFLDK

 _Macca:_ awww geo told us he loves us in his awkward, not at all weird way

 _Goerge:_ that’s why I always keep a spray-bottle filled with water on me

 _Goerge:_ to nourish you bunch

 _Ringo:_ i thought it was like a cat training thing? like when john’s bein a git you spritz in his face

 _Goerge:_ oh yea that too

 _Eggboy:_????

 _Eggboy:_ u sprayed water in me face the other day???? and i didnt do anything wrong??

 _Ringo:_ did he??

 _Goerge:_ John you literally drank straight out of the milk carton

 _Eggboy:_ AND?

 _Macca:_ ewwwwwww I do that too sometimes

 _Goerge:_ are you actually serious

 _Goerge:_ do you,,,, k n o w how disgusting that is

 _Ringo:_ DISGUSTENG

 _Goerge:_ eXACTLY thank you ritchie

 _Ringo:_ your welcome.

 _Eggboy:_ your

 _Goerge:_ your

 _Macca:_ your

 _Ringo:_ FUCK YOU GUYS

 _Macca:_ <3

 _Macca:_ anyway we share ciggies, blunts, bottles and cups all the time? I’m just not that bothered by it

 _Macca:_ remember Geo that one time you spit in my soup out of sheer bitterness and spite because that’s just who you are and I just kept on eating

 _Goerge:_ I do that was traumatizing

 _Macca:_ it’s just your DNA tho, nothing too sickening

 _Eggboy:_ yea i just couldnt care less honestly

 _Eggboy:_ scabies lasts six weeks

 _Eggboy:_ im not grossed out by the lot of ye

 _Macca:_ ^^

 _Ringo:_ hi yes just bc you 2 would like to swap spit doesn’t mean geo and i would like to swap spit with yall

 _Macca:_ hhhhh

 _Ringo:_ kay? thanks

 _Goerge:_ yea go be disgusting together somewhere else but like not here

 _Goerge:_ or buy like separate milk cartons and scribble yer name on it in sharpie so that you can drink out of the carton like the disgusting human beings you are

 _Goerge:_ and allow Ritchie and I to stay civilized and like,, use a cup with our saliva free milk

 _Macca:_ does this mean you two don’t like us slobbering all over you?

 _Ringo:_ YES IT DOES

 _Ringo:_ alright im gonna go be a perfect employee now

 _Ringo:_ buh-bye bitches xxxxx

 _Eggboy:_ xx!!

 _Macca:_ love ya mate

 _Goerge:_ nooooo don’t leave me

 _Eggboy:_ r we really that scary geo??

 _Goerge:_ god yes

 _Goerge:_ y’all disgust me.

 _Macca:_ rude.

 _Goerge:_ sheer bitterness and spite right? xx

**_17:23_ **

_Eggboy:_ i Hate college

 _Macca:_ do ya now

 _Eggboy:_ yes.

 _Eggboy:_ its like fuckin secondary school all over again

 _Eggboy:_ i said like one fuckin thing and the prof told me to fuckin leave???

 _Eggboy:_ fucks sake

 _Macca:_...

 _Macca:_ John love

 _Macca:_ what did you say?

 _Eggboy:_ nothing bad!!

 _Macca:_ John.

 _Eggboy:_ seriously!!

 _Macca:_ ಠ_ಠ

 _Eggboy:_ dID GEO TELL U HOW TO DO THAT

 _Eggboy:_ HE STILL HASNT TOLD ME

 _Eggboy:_ THAT PRETTY SON OF A BITCH

 _Goerge:_ I am pretty yes.

 _Eggboy:_ THATS NOT THE POINT

 _Goerge:_ (✿◠‿◠)

 _Eggboy:_ fuck u.

 _Goerge:_ rather not, hot stuff

 _Macca:_ John

 _Macca:_ what the fuck did you say

 _Eggboy:_ nothing bad!!

 _Goerge:_ yea nothing bad according to you

 _Goerge:_ but you’ve often got different opinions on saying bad things than the regular human being, gremlin

 _Macca:_ EXACTLY

 _Macca:_ you’re a dick without knowing it

 _Eggboy:_ thats fuckin rude

 _Eggboy:_ ill have you lot know my dick is a lot prettier than i am

 _Goerge:_ hhhhhh mood

 _Macca:_ ……………

 _Macca:_ why

 _Macca:_ w h y

 _Ringo:_ hullo

 _Ringo:_ work’s done!! what’d i miss??

 _Goerge:_ eggboy prolly pissed his teacher off by saying something insensitive

 _Ringo:_ so like

 _Ringo:_ by being himself

 _Eggboy:_ I AM A NICE PERSON

 _Macca:_ that’s honestly debatable

 _Ringo:_ pfff true

 _Eggboy:_ i hate you all

 _Eggboy:_ go die.

 _Ringo:_ gladly, i’m fuckin exhausted

 _Ringo:_ but seriously tho mate what did ya say

 _Eggboy:_ …

 _Eggboy:_ the bastard criticized the way i drew a dick so i said “think i know how to draw a penis sir i admired mine just this mornin” n he got all flustered and stuttered something about me needing to speak less like a low-rate docker

 _Eggboy:_ and i said i can speak any way i bloody well like and he said “some people might find u unapproachable bc of it” and i just

 _Ringo:_ okay that’s kind of rude from ur professor

 _Eggboy:_ rite?? so asked him if the way i speak intimidated him and he said “sometimes” so i said “i can see that, even ur hairlines runnin from me” and he turned beet red and kicked me out

 _Macca:_ fdafa

 _Macca:_ figures.

 _Eggboy:_ whas tha supposed ta mean????

 _Macca:_ you know exactly what that’s supposed to mean love.

 _Eggboy:_ :(

 _Eggboy:_ no i dont

 _Ringo:_ it was kind of a mean thing to say mate so it’s no wonder you got kicked out.

 _Ringo:_ im not surprised and also not disappointed, cause it was a bloody good comeback

 _Ringo:_ but kinda mean

 _Goerge:_ yea mate you kinda beat on his insecurities like that

 _Goerge:_ great comeback tho

 _Eggboy:_ thank

 _Eggboy:_ i get why he kicked me out but im still pissed though

 _Goerge:_ but were you able to finish your dick drawing

 _Eggboy:_ no

 _Eggboy:_ also why im pissed

 _Eggboy:_ it was a bloody good body study too and i couldnt even take it with me cause he wouldnt let me

 _Goerge:_ I might have something that can cheer ye up

 _Goerge:_ you up for it?

 _Eggboy:_ honestly im accepting anything that might make me feel less pissed

 _Goerge:_ chill!

 

 **_Goerge_ ** **sent a picture**

 

 _Eggboy:_ is that a,,,, nun

 _Eggboy:_ picking dicks like apples

 _Goerge:_ yea and it’s from an old manuscript

 _Goerge:_ like a monk drew this

 _Eggboy:_ im mesmerised

 _Macca:_ what the fuck?? is that??

 _Ringo:_ its a nun picking penises cant you see macca??

 _Ringo:_ michelangelo is quaking

 _Eggboy:_ IM quaking

 _Ringo:_ bold of u to assume you’re equal to michelangelo

 _Eggboy:_ bold of u to assume i have any type of self confidence

 _Ringo:_ … fair

 _Goerge:_ …. John are you downstairs?

 _Eggboy:_??? yea?? im in the kitchen

 _Goerge:_ chill

 _Goerge:_ stay there

 _Eggboy:_ k??

 

**_17:41_ **

_Ringo:_ who the fuck is yelling?

 _Macca:_ not me

 _Ringo:_ hm.

 _Ringo:_ so geo or john?

 _Macca:_ I mean

 _Macca:_ I don’t think anyone else is in the apartment

 _Ringo:_ jesus it sounds like they’re breaking the house down

 _Ringo:_ im gonna go take a look

 _Macca:_ do that

 _Macca:_ I’m having a bath so I’m not movin

 _Macca:_ keep me updated

 _Ringo:_ will do

 

**_17:45_ **

_Macca:_ holy shit I heard a crash

 _Macca:_ what is happening??

 _Macca:_ did someone get murdered?

 _Macca:_ should I leave my bath??

 

**_17:48_ **

_Macca:_ scratch that, I ain’t leaving

 _Macca:_ this is the first time I’ve been able to properly relax in WEEKS so I’m staying here

 _Macca:_ but I’d still like to know what happened

 _Macca:_ at least y’all have stopped yelling

 

**_17:51_ **

_Macca:_ Ritchie what happened??

 

**_17:54_ **

_Macca:_ hullooooo???

 _Macca:_ seriously I’m not leaving this bath I’ve got scented candles, bubbles, the whole shebang

 _Macca:_ but if no-one’s gonna update me I might have to

 _Macca:_ and if I do it’s not gonna be pretty

 

**_18:01_ **

_Eggboy:_ hi

 _Eggboy:_ theres no need to leave ur bath luv

 _Eggboy:_ but let me start off by saying nobody died.

 _Macca:_ … and that’s not concerning at all

 _Ringo:_ it’s not?

 _Macca:_ sarcasm, Richard.

 _Ringo:_ oh

 _Ringo:_ jfdaf ofc

 _Goerge:_ JOHN ALMOST FUCKIN MURDERED ME

 _Macca:_ he

 _Macca:_ he almost did what now

 _Eggboy:_ no i didn’t hes just bein dramatic as per usual

 _Goerge:_ YOU THREW A FUCKIN CHAIR AT ME HEAD

 _Macca:_???????

 _Eggboy:_ LIGHTLY

 _Eggboy:_ I THREW IT LIGHTLY

 _Goerge:_ WELL IT DIDN’T FUCKIN FEEL LIGHTLY NOW DID IT

 _Ringo:_ geo’s got a gigantic shiner lmao

 _Goerge:_ and I’ve got a fuckin nosebleed

 _Goerge:_ AGAIN

 _Goerge:_ I look like fuckin carrie, covered in blood

 _Goerge:_ this was my FAVOURITE shirt and it’s ruined now.

 _Macca:_ ,,, I take one bath

 _Macca:_ ONE.

 _Eggboy:_ U GOT WHAT WAS COMING TO YE HARRISON

 _Macca:_ what did he do???

 _Goerge:_ NO I FUCKIN DIDN’T YOU ABSOLUTE WANKSTAIN

 _Goerge:_ I COULD’VE DIED

 _Eggboy:_ WELL YA DIDNT DID YA

 _Macca:_ SERIOUSLY lads what happened

 _Ringo:_ from what I understand, geo spritzed water john in the face

 _Ringo:_ and then john started chasing geo and ended up throwing a dining chair at him??

 _Goerge:_ I spritzed him in the face cause he needs to unlearn being such a selfhating shiteface

 _Goerge:_ and he just produced this pterodactyl-like screech and started chasin me round the living room

 _Eggboy:_ yea cause that was just fuckin rude

 _Goerge:_ IT WAS LOVINGLY RUDE

 _Goerge:_ and he just throws it back in me face

 _Goerge:_ literally

 _Goerge:_ but with a chair.

 _Ringo:_ honestly this is still unreal

 _Ringo:_ im sitting next to geo and he’s holding an icepack against his eye and is furiously typing with one finger

 _Eggboy:_ yea but u called me a pussy before I yeeted a chair at ye

 _Macca:_ JOHN

 _Macca:_ IN WHAT WAY DOES BEING CALLED A PUSSY

 _Macca:_ PROMPT THROWING WITH DINING CHAIRS

 _Eggboy:_ u didnt hear the way he called me one

 _Eggboy:_ was all condescending-like

 _Eggboy:_ and he dared me to throw it and i dont decline a fuckin dare

 _Ringo:_ ya know geo did dare him, gotta give ya that johnny

 _Eggboy:_ thank.

 _Macca:_ oh my god.

 _Goerge:_ in my defense I didn’t think you were actually willing to destroy our fuckin furniture

 _Macca:_ how, exactly, did you say it??

 _Ringo:_ he said “are you gonna throw it at me, johnny? I fuckin dare you to throw it at me, mate. Do it, pussy, bet you can’t reach me anyway”

 _Ringo:_ and john just

 _Ringo:_ yeeted it at geo

 _Macca:_ hhhhhh

 _Ringo:_ i think i heard classical music as it sailed through the air

 _Eggboy:_ personally i heard mmm whatcha say

 _Ringo:_ oh that’s a good one

 _Goerge:_ Richard I was assaulted

 _Ringo:_ well you just about assaulted lennon with yer spritzing mate

 _Goerge:_ I SPRIZTED OUT OF LOVE

 _Ringo:_ sprizted

 _Eggboy:_ sprizted

 _Macca:_ sprizted

 _Goerge:_ fucks sake.

 _Goerge:_ still was no reason to just fuckin throw a chair at me

 _Eggboy:_ well im not a fuckin pussy geology.

 _Ringo:_ GEOLOGY

 _Goerge:_ ಠ_ಠ

 _Eggboy:_ u kno what

 _Eggboy:_ fuck u

 _Ringo:_ John no

 _Ringo:_ john don’t you fuckin dare

 _Ringo:_ JOHN

 _Macca:_ did I just hear Geo yell “come at me mate”?

 

Ringo was tired.

Very much so.

Honestly, holding back the bull that was an angry John Winston Lennon while simultaneously trying to keep a probably concussed, sass-filled George Harrison from opening the pretty mouth that earned him a black eye in the first place was one of the hardest things he’d done so far – and Ringo has done some very hard things in his short twenty-one years on this planet. But this, having one hand continually pressed against the mouth of a squirming Geo while trying his utmost best to push John back with one leg and his other hand, was indeed topping that list.

John pushed forward, trying to slither past Ringo, and Ringo saw then no other option but to guard George with the rest of his body. They were chest to chest, George bending backwards over the dining room table and Ringo clinging to the wood with all his might as John aggressively tried to peel Ringo off their youngest friend.

“Let me at ‘im!” John just about bellowed, harshly tugging at Ringo’s shoulder. _“Move,_ Starkey!”

Though Ringo and George were nose to nose at this point, George’s eyes were still trained on John. He grinned, challenge in his irises. He looked quite mad like that, with the blood crusting around his pretty nose and his eye swelling up, and when he wiggled his eyebrows Ringo swallowed a groan.

“Yeah, Ritchie,” Geo sneered, squirming a little again as if trying to move away from Ringo. “You have ta move. Let John finally fuck me up good.” His gaze then flicked to Ringo’s eyes. “Unbelievable, innit? An emoticon set him off like that. Short-tempered little lad, huh Johnny-boy? Do ye treat everyone who loves ye like tha’?”

Though Ringo couldn’t see him, he knew John was close to exploding. _“I FUCKIN’ HATE YE, HARRISON.”_

“Well, well, well,” Geo tutted, “have I hit a weak spot, Lennon?”

Ringo didn’t even have the time to hiss _“shut up”_ at George before he was suddenly yanked away from him. He stumbled backwards, looking on in horror as John fuckin’ _jumped_ George. Thankfully, he’d overestimated the amount of momentum he needed, because he tumbled right _over_ Geo onto the table, missing his target completely. George took that opportunity to sprint away just as John let out a mighty screech, but he was stopped.

There was Macca, murder in his pretty eyes, dressed in nothing more than a flimsy towel. He was dripping wet and looked positively freezing yet highly intimidating.

One glare and George scrambled back towards the table. One more, and John looked awfully pale.

“Look what you’ve done, now, lads,” Paul murmured, allowing his gaze to sweep over the three of ‘em. “You’ve made me leave me bath.”

John audibly swallowed.

“Paulie, babe, my love,” he started, crawling in his direction and sliding off the table. “The most beautiful friend, the sweetest, _kindest_ person I’ve ever known-”

“Cut the crap, John,” Paul said calmly, John freezing mid-step. “Why the _fuck_ did you lose your temper over a goddamn emoticon? And you,” he directed his verbal knives at Geo now, “why the _fuck_ did you egg him on? Do you want to die?”

George flushed and bit his lip. “Maybe.”

Paul looked at the ceiling and sighed. _“Oh my God.”_

“It’s not like it’s my fault completely,” John grumbled, “it’s his fault too. He couldn’t be normal and keep his goddamn mouth shut.”

George’s eyes narrowed dangerously(well, one of them, as the other was swelling shut), and his mouth pulled into a scowl. “You can go fuck yourself, you know that?”

John sprung towards George with a growl.

 _“HEY!”_ Paul yelled, frowning and starting to heatedly step towards the two of them. Ringo’s stomach lurched as his eyes trained on the puddles Paul had left on the slick tiles, already seeing everything go wrong. He opened his mouth to warn him, arms outstretched, but Paul’d already slipped. Ringo could do no more than watch as his best friend fell backwards, hitting the ground with a dull yet painful thud.

And then there was a lot of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHHHHHH OHHHHH DIDNT EXPECT FEELS DID YA  
> no worries tho, pol aint dead. youll see in the next chapter. also worried boyfriend john lennon.  
> I hope this chapter was somewhat enjoyable! again, late update because im an ass, but whatever yknow. it's three am so i sincerely apologize for the cliffhanger, but i really wanted to update and 2600 words for a chapter of a chatfic is perfect imo.  
> xx


	12. pANIC

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ringo: brian something happened  
> Ringo: don’t flip out no ones dead  
> Brian Epstein: Richard that does not prevent me from flipping out  
> Brian Epstein: If anything, it makes me even more concerned.  
> ***  
> pol isnt dead, surprisingly, and gets stitched up and flirts with his handsome doctor. john is jealous and concerned. ringo and george are literal angels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unediteEEEEEEED as one should expect from me.

**_18:34_ **

Everything suddenly went very, very quickly.

Paul shot back upright almost immediately, eyes wide, and placed a tentative hand on the back of his skull, before pulling back to observe his fingers. At the sight of them being covered in blood he produced a small whimper. George, ever the quick thinker, rushed to the cabinet holding their handtowels and ripped two out before stepping towards Paul and pressing one of them against the back of his head. The fabric immediately began to soak up blood, crimson taking over the white, and he looked at Ringo with a panicked expression.

Ringo just about sprinted towards their hallway, grabbing his car keys out of the little fruit bowl they kept next to the door. His heart was in his throat, but the world around him was awfully clear as he stepped back into the kitchen.

“John,” he immediately said, voice more authoritative than it’s ever been, “help Geo get Paul onto his feet. If he can’t walk we’ll carry him, alright? We’re going to the hospital. Let’s go.”

John flinched, as if the words had shocked him into working again, and he leaned down to have Paul place one arm around his shoulder. George instructed him to hold Paul’s hip as extra grip(and to, probably, hold the towel in place, though that was literally the least of their worries right now) as he himself had Paul’s other arm over his shoulder, holding the hand towel against the wound with his somewhat free hand. They rushed out of the apartment and then down the stairs of their apartment building, towards the parking space. Had he not suddenly felt like he needed to be a parental-figure he’d probably have been crying, but Ringo had no time to properly mull about that possibility.

It was fuckin’ freezing out, the wind awfully chilly, and he knew that all of them were a bit more relieved when they stepped into the little, old, bright green VW Polo that had once belonged to Ringo’s mother. _“If Paul turns out completely alright because we made it to the hospital in time,”_ he thought as he turned the key in the ignition, _“I’ll thank her on bare knees for dumping this dinosaur on me.”_

George fished an orange blanket they’d once used for a road trip way back when out of the trunk and wrapped it around Macca, just after ordering a _very_ pale John to keep the bloody hand towel in position. Paul, who’d been shivering slightly, hummed in thanks and closed his eyes.

“Are you dizzy?” Ringo heard George ask calmly, though his voice was louder than usual. “Nauseous? Do you need to throw up or do you feel like you’re about to pass out?”

“I’m alright,” Paul answered shakily, “I’m alright. I’m alright, Geo, I’m alright.”

“Are you sure? You can’t act tough now, okay Paulie? You need to tell me the complete truth.”

“I-” a very shaky inhale, “alright.”

“Good,” George said rather harshly. “Do you feel dizzy?”

Silence.

“Paul?” George pressed, “do you feel dizzy?”

From the rear-view mirror Ringo could see Paul squeeze his eyes shut “A bit.”

“Okay. How about nausea? Are you gonna be sick?”

“I don’t – I don’t think so.”

“Can you see everything clearly? Or is everything a bit blurry?”

“It’s a bit blurry, I think.” It looks like Paul turned his head a little, probably to look at John. “If this is what you see all the time, I feel sorry for ye. It’s shite, Johnny.”

John’s voice shook when he answered. “Glad you feel empathic, love.”

“How ‘bout you tell us about your day, hm?” George prompted, voice a lot more gentle now. “What did you do? Describe everything, please. I really want to know.”

“I don’t know, Georgie,” Paul replied, “I feel a bit sleepy.”

George looked straight into the rear-view mirror and he and Ringo locked eyes. He appeared frightened, almost, and licked his lips. "You shouldn’t be,” he then says, voice a little louder. “Please tell me about your day, Paul. I really want to hear it. You too, don’t you Ritchie?”

“I do!” he answered loudly, and he could hear his voice was bordering on hysteric, “I’m really interested in it, mate!”

“And John, you as well, right?”

“Yea, love!” his voice was still shaky, and he sounded like he was about to cry. “I really want to hear all about it. Please, tell us, babe. _Please.”_

“Alright,” Paul said slowly, voice slurring a bit. “But I’m going to have a kip after.”

“We’ll see about that, alright, Paul dear?” George answered, the slightest hint of panic in his voice, and Ringo pressed down a bit harder on the accelerator.

 

**_Private chat_ **

_“Ringo” online_

_“Brian Epstein” online_

**_19:20_ **

_Ringo:_ brian something happened

 _Ringo:_ don’t flip out no ones dead

 _Brian Epstein:_ Richard that does not prevent me from flipping out

 _Brian Epstein:_ If anything, it makes me even more concerned.

 _Brian Epstein:_ What happened?

 _Ringo:_ okay so

 _Ringo:_ apart from geo heading a dining chair and having a gigantic fuckin shiner

 _Brian Epstein:_ George did what?

 _Ringo:_ Paul slipped and hit his head really hard on the tile floors of our kitchen

 _Ringo:_ we’re at the ER right now, and the prospects are good but he probably has a really heavy concussion

 _Ringo:_ the doctors were surprised he was still awake and reasonably alert

 _Ringo:_ they’re stitching him up right now

 _Brian Epstein:_ Oh my God

 _Brian Epstein:_ What do you mean by “stitching up”? Is his head split open?

 _Ringo:_ they did some scans and theres no crack in his skull or anything but the skins split open completely

 _Ringo:_ geos holdin his hand as the doctor’s stitching and he said that you could literally see bone

 _Brian Epstein:_ Okay. How did this happen?

 _Ringo:_ … long story short, geo and john were fuckin around but got really mad at each other and then john threw a chair at geos head after being dared to(hence the heading a chair part) and at some point I got them calmed down sorta but then john and geo started yelling at each other again and paulie had to get out of his bath and was still dripping wet and when john leapt at geo paul wanted to insert himself to get them to stop but slipped on water and subsequently hit his head really hard

 _Ringo:_ im pretty sure john thinks its his fault completely, hes been in the bathroom for about twenty minutes now which is unusually long

 _Brian Epstein:_ For fuck’s sake Ritchie

 _Ringo:_ sorry eppy :(

 _Brian Epstein:_ Hm. You’re insured well right?

 _Ringo:_ eh yea I think so

 _Brian Epstein:_ Alright. Keep me updated, okay?

 _Ringo:_ okay!

 

Just as Ringo locked his phone, the curtain of the little treatment room slid open and John stepped in. He was rather pale, and his cheeks were slightly blotchy, but other than that he looked perfectly neutral. He half-glanced at Paul, George, and dr. Walker, the handsome young man currently stitching up Paul, before slowly sitting down in the chair next to Ringo.

“Alright, John?” Ringo muttered, glancing at John’s hands. He’d apparently bitten his fingernails down to the flesh, and he tried to hide a wince at the sight of John’s chewed-on little finger. “Was a long wee mate.”

“Yea,” John replied, sounding somewhat distracted. Dr. Walker had leaned towards Paul a little more, whispering something, and Paul giggled. Ringo saw John’s jaw clench. “Large bladder, y’know,” he added as an afterthought, just barely glancing at Ringo before staring at Paul and dr. Walker again.

Ringo nodded. “Okay,” he said softly. John was obviously upset, so Ringo was cautious: though sarcastic quips usually lifted John’s mood significantly, it oftentimes depended on what kind of annoyed John was. Whenever his patience was hanging by a silk thread, much like now, the smallest thing could set him off. _Gentle, Ritchie._ “Sometimes it just needs to be released, huh?” he fondly patted John’s wrist. “Feels better, then.”

At that exact moment, Paul decided to speak up. “Of course it has to!” the Wounded Warrior commented with a dopey smile, “you can’t just hold it in for too long, can you now? Bit uncomfortable, like.”

Ringo raised his eyebrows in amusement, and George shot him a grin. “You really can’t, mate,” the youngest agreed, and he squeezed Paul’s hand before placing his attention on John. “They gave him painkillers and they’re kind of strong,” he explained. “Make him a little floaty. Don’t they, Paulie?”

“Yea!” Paul said loudly, giggling gleefully when dr. Walker laughed. He was completely oblivious of the scowl appearing on John’s face, apparently too happy with the attention he got from the _very_ handsome medical practitioner tending to his wounds.

“It’s the good stuff,” dr. Walker commented. “If the dosage is a bit higher than usual, you’re in another _world.”_ He paused, biting his lip and making a face. “I’m actually not supposed to tell you lot this-”

“We don’t mind,” George said breezily. He grinned again, winking at dr. Walker, and Ringo could’ve sworn the man’s cheeks flushed.

Paul, who apparently had noticed dr. Walker’s reaction to Geo’s… _Geo-ness_ yet still was completely oblivious of John’s rapidly deteriorating mood, shuffled a little closer. “I might be a little high right now,” he sighed, and George pulled a spastic face at the dramatic undertone, “but that doesn’t take away my _surprise_ at me sittin’ ina hospital at suppertime, wearin’ no more than a tiny towel and a blood-soaked blanket tha’s once orange. _‘N yet.”_

“Bloody good blanket, too,” Ringo muttered under his breath, but George spoke over him, his fingers brushing apologetically over Paul’s bare shoulder.

“That’d be sort of our fault, love,” he said softly, and his carefree smile turned rather strained. “We shouldn’t ‘ave pissed ye off like tha’. ‘s not alright.”

Paul just smiled. “I was the one runnin’ on wet tiles, Georgie.”

“Still, we could’ve been more careful. ” George pursed his lips a little, glancing at John. John, however, paid his friend no mind; he still appeared to be in a completely different world, glare fixated on dr. Walker and the man’s flirtatious attitude. If looks could kill, Walker would be six feet under.

Dr. Walker didn’t squirm under the famous Lennon-glare, finishing his last stitch carefully and tying the thread off with a smile. “Careful or not, what’s done is done, and I’m done too,” he put his hand on Paul’s other shoulder gently, eyes shining. “Well, Mr. McCartney,” he stated jovially, “that looks a whole lot less nasty now. I’ve done quite a nice job if I may say so myself.”

George leaned back a bit and squinted at the back of Paul’s head. “You may,” he said, and he shot the guy a small grin. “Looks great, for how great a cut can look.”

“Cool,” Paul answered, swinging his feet. “Can we go now? I’m starvin’.”

The doctor glanced at Ringo, before smiling apologetically. “I have a CT-scan planned for you in half an hour. Standard procedure,” he stated. “And to add to that: I’d actually like to keep you here overnight, sir. You’ve hit your head quite hard, and it appears you have a concussion. It’s just for observation, of course, nothing really serious – but I do think it might be a bit safer for you to just stay here for the night.”

To Ringo, this sounded reasonable, and judging by Geo’s slow nod it was the same case for him.

Sadly, John didn’t share that sentiment.

“Like hell he will,” he said, his voice awfully cold all of a sudden. Ringo inhaled through his nose as an attempt at remaining calm.

“Pardon?”

“He’s not stayin’,” John repeated. He was full on scowling now, his mean and sharp glare directed at dr. Walker alone. “We can take care of him at home perfectly fine. I’ve had a concussion before, the first couple of days he needs to be woken up every two hours to check if his reaction-time doesn’t worsen and he can’t do any harsh, physical labour.”

Dr. Walker blinked. “That’s indeed what one should do,” he said. He sounded kind and patient, albeit a bit surprised. Dealing with annoyed patients – or family members of said patients – must’ve been daily business for him. John’s little outburst didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. “But since he’s hit his head so hard, I want to make sure there won’t be any internal swelling in the brain during the night. This might happen.”

“He wants to go home,” John argued. “And if he wants to, he will.”

“I still don’t think that is _responsible,_ Mr…?”

John’s eyes narrowed a little more, and his eyebrows pulled together in an even stronger frown. “Lennon,” he snapped. “John Lennon.”

“Well then, Mr. Lennon,” dr. Walker started, “then I think, out of years of experience, that he should still stay here. This is about his health, mr. Lennon, not merely about ego-”

 _“It’s not about ego!”_ John seethed, red in the face at this point. “He- he doesn’t _like_ hospitals-”

“I’m alright with staying.”

Paul look serious, eyebrows pulled in a frown and the smallest hint of a pout on his lips. He looked around the room, nodding when his eyes met John’s. He quickly locked gazes with dr. Walker though, smiling cheekily. “I really don’t mind.”

When dr. Walker carefully grinned back, John shot up onto his feet in less then a second, snarling a _“fine”_ in Paul’s general direction before storming off. Ringo closed his eyes briefly and inhaled to gather his thoughts.

Paul, though frowning and looking like he wanted to jump up and chase him, apparently decided to let it be and and launch himself into a suggestive conversation with dr. Walker. The doctor himself looked _annoyingly_ satisfied, and when Ringo locked gazes with George he wasn’t surprised to see the young man scowling.

George didn’t say anything, just raised his eyebrows slightly and inclined his head in the direction John’d run off to. He understood the hint, rising from his seat and nodding at Geo. As he left the room, curtain rustling behind him, he heard George apologizing.

 _“Sorry,”_ he said, _“we’ve had a rough day.”_

And a fuckin’ rough day it had been indeed. Well, rough past hours; Ringo muttered curses to himself as he walked around, trying to find any sign of John. Though Paulie’s fall may have been an accident, it still wasn’t nice at all to encounter, and he still felt a bit shaky at the memory of the ungodly amount of blood.

It didn’t take long for Ringo to realise that maybe, _maybe_ he hadn’t a clue what he was doing. He’d been aimlessly wandering through the ER for about five minutes that that point, entering several bathrooms and looking underneath the stall-doors to try and spot John’s beat-up converse. His mind then stumbled upon the most brilliant idea he’d had to date: _ask someone._

The counter closest to the room Paul was probably _still_ being treated in was bright blue and rounded. A nurse sat behind the counter, going through several documents; he cleared his throat to grab her attention. She looked up with a glare, mouth pulled into a scowl.

“I’m sorry if I’m interrupting,” he started, inwardly cringing at her disgruntled expression, “but have you seen a young man leaving that” he pointed at the little room, “treatment room, perhaps? He was a bit upset but took my keys with him, you see-”

She visibly brightened. “Ah!” she murmered, smiling now. “Do you mean the handsome young man with auburn hair and nice arse?”

Ringo’s eyebrows shot up.

“I mean,” she spluttered, and a flush appeared on her pale cheeks, “he was taller than you, wearing a black t-shirt, and tight jeans. Truly a _wonderful_ behind-”

“I think that’s him,” Ringo said drily, desperately trying to erase the nurse’s dreamy face as she remembered John’s _arse_ of all things. “Would you mind telling me which direction he’s run off to?”

“He asked me where you’re allowed to smoke,” she answered with a smile, cheeks still rather red. “So he’s currently in the parking lot.”

“Thank you!” he shot her a grin before hurrying off in the direction of the parking lot.

 

**_private chat_ **

_“Ringo” is online_

_“Eggboy” is offline_

**_19:38_ **

_Ringo:_ hey mate you’re in the parking lot?

 _Ringo:_ where exactly? i don’t wanna smoke alone

 _Ringo:_ john???

 _Ringo:_?????

 

**_19:45_ **

It was bloody _pissing_ outside.

Ringo stared at the parking lot with a small scowl. The asphalt and tiles were already completely soaked, and several deep puddles were forming where the ground wasn’t level.

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered, squinting at the different glass shelters scattered throughout the parking lot, places where people usually smoked. Nobody was allowed to smoke near the entrance – which wasn’t surprising, it was a hospital for fuck’s sake – but that meant that Ringo would have to walk through the pouring rain to get to John.

Most shelters were completely vacant, save for two. The closest one held a person in a bright pink outfit, thus making Ringo conclude it wasn’t the one holding John, and the furthest one held a vague figure dressed in all-black. So Ringo sighed, wrapped his arms around himself, and started to run.

He was soaked within seconds, rain pelting down on him in big, icy drops. The droplets slid down his chest and he shivered as he ran, cursing the weather of early English spring.

When he arrived, he spotted the figure – _obviously_ John, judging by the reddish-brown curls in the nape of his neck – huddled away in a corner, lit cigarette dangling between his long fingers. Ringo sighed, slicking back his wet fringe, and stepped inside.

“Evenin’,” he muttered, grabbing his own pack of cigarettes. He fished stick and put it inbetween his teeth, patting himself down for his lighter.

John was silent, staring at the ground with a stubborn glare. He paid no mind to his burning cigarette, nor did he pay any mind to the fuckin’ _soaked_ Ringo. He merely sniffed.

Ringo found his lighter with a grin, only to realise after three enthusiastic flicks the flint had gotten too wet and rendering the lighter useless. He groaned, dropping the thing back in his jean’s back pocket, though patting himself on the back for using a waterproof phonecase. Just a pity that lighters weren’t waterproof.

“You got a light?” he asked John, shuffling a bit closer. After a couple of seconds, it became apparent John wasn’t going to answer. “Johnny? You got a light?”

John startled, blinking a couple of times. “I- er- _yea._ Here ya go, Ritchie.”

Taking note of the trembe in John’s voice, Ringo quickly lit his cigarette before handing the zippo back. He inhaled the smoke deeply before blowing out. “You alright, then, Lennon?”

John sighed.

“Gave us a bit of scare just now, y’know. Stormin’ off like tha’,” Ringo continued casually, peeking down at his friend from the corner of his eyes. “Been lookin’ for ye for a while.”

And to his bloody surprise, John started to cry.

It took an embarrassing ten seconds before he moved, flicking his cigarette away and leaning down on his knees in front of John. The younger one out of the two of them was sobbing, genuinely _sobbing_ , and Ringo hadn’t felt that helpless in quite some time.

“C’mon, now, Johnny,” he muttered, awkwardly patting John’s shoulders, _“C’mon now._ What’s wrong, mate?”

“It’s my fault,” John whispered, and he sounded so incredibly broken that it gave a pang in Ringo’s heart. “He fell ‘n could’ve fuckin’ _died_ and it’s my _fuckin’_ fault.”

“No it isn’t,” Ringo said softly, “it’s not. He ran on wet tiles. You could’ve been a little more careful, yes, but it’s not your fault, John.”

“Paul thinks it is and now he hates me,” John blubbered, “he hates me and I’m never gonna have a chance now and he bloody hates me and it’s _my fault-”_

Ringo inhaled sharply, placing both hands on either side of John’s face now and lifting it up to have John meet his gaze. “Alright,” he said sharply, “I want you to breathe normally, okay? This is nobody’s fault. It was a freak accident. Paul’s also not dead, he’s alive ‘n kickin’ and even a lil’ high now. Him being high _means_ that he’s somewhat out of it, so if you think he’s acting weirdly now than that’s the cause. Besides,” he murmured, shooting John a smile, “he’s got a concussion. He’s probably confused about who’s prettier.”

“What does that even mean?” John cried. Tears were still dripping down his cheeks at a steady rate, and Ringo wiped some away with his thumb.

“That Paul is temporarily attracted to dr. what’s-his-name because his brain’s all fucked up.”

John scowled. “I’m not upset about that!”

Ringo stayed silent.

“… alright, maybe a little.” John looked away and leaned back, rubbing harshly at his cheeks. “I don’t even know _why_ I’m so upset. I just- there was _so_ much blood, Ritchie. And I mean like- I think I fucked it up bad. I don’t want ‘im to leave me.” John looked at Ringo, brown eyes big and puffy and red. “Y’know?”

Ringo merely smiled, and nodded.

 

**_private chat_ **

_“Ringo” is online_

_“Goerge” is online_

**_20:23_ **

_Ringo:_ alright ive got him and were heading back now

 _Ringo:_ it’s fuckin freezing, m soaked through and its so cold

 _Ringo:_ anyway where ye at

 _Goerge:_ Paul just finished the CT-scan and they’ve found no injury, let’s start with that

 _Goerge:_ we’re currently in the room where he’ll be sleeping in

 _Ringo:_ okay cool

 _Ringo:_ and where is that??

 _Goerge:_ there was a free bed in the neurology department

 _Goerge:_ that’s ehhhh

 _Goerge:_ third floor, wing F, room 3

 _Ringo:_ hnfdhs

 _Ringo:_ press f to pay respects

 _Goerge:_ hfnsfd

 _Goerge:_ anyway, one last thing

 _Goerge:_ Paul wants to stay here overnight, but he doesn’t wanna be alone

 _Goerge:_ and I’m also pretty sure he wants John to stay

 _Goerge:_ so like can u ask

 _Ringo:_ yo

 

“Hey,” Ringo muttered, jamming his elbow in John’s unsuspecting side. John, poor lad, jumped back with a curse. They’d been walking back from their little smoke hide-away, the warm, dry hospital air a blessing for a fuckin’ _freezin’_ Ringo. Ringo wanted to take their time but John seemed rather winded up, as if he would jump to Paul if he could.

 _“What?”_ John hissed, hand massaging his bruised ribs. “Why must you be so violent?”

“You’re always spacing out,” Ringo retorted. “Anyway, Geo asks if you’d like to stay here with Macca overnight. He doesn’t want to be alone-”

John’s eyes bugged out of his skull and got all shiny, eyebrows pulled together in a sad frown. Ringo swallowed a snort; he looked like a puppy. “He wants me to stay here?” John asked timidly, ruffling his hair. “Are you sure?”

“I am,” Ringo replied. It was odd seeing John so _openly_ insecure. Alright, the boy probably _bled_ insecurity, but he never showed it. It was odd seeing him stumble over his words and own two feet. “So? You wanna stay the night or nah?”

“I- I do.” John nodded vigorously, accidentally bumping into a pole because he wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking. He cursed, loudly, and rubbed his shoulder before nodding again. “I really do.”

Ringo gave him the thumbs up, and went back to texting Geo.

 

**_private chat_ **

_“Ringo” online_

_“Goerge” online_

**_20:27_ **

_Ringo:_ John just about cried again and said yes

 _Goerge:_ chill I’ll notify the nurses

 _Ringo:_ so there’s another free bed?

 _Goerge:_ yea it’s a completely empty room with two beds.

 _Goerge:_ there’s like a shiteload of space

 _Goerge:_ we could stay here as well but like

 _Ringo:_ nah

 _Goerge:_ exactly

 _Ringo:_ is paul doin ok?

 _Goerge:_ still high as a kite

 _Goerge:_ livin the life

 _Goerge:_ has NOT stopped chatting my ear off about lemon

 _Goerge:_ I am in Hell but it’s kind of cute too

 _Ringo:_ … lemon as in,,, the citrus?

 _Ringo:_ or

 _Goerge:_ eggboi

 _Goerge:_ I mean our bitter eggboi

 _Ringo:_ fdhfdj that’s adorable

 _Goerge:_ right???

 _Ringo:_ kay I’m gonna go socialize again xxx

 _Goerge:_ see ya in a minute xxxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI YES HERE I AM YET AGAIN  
> sorry for not uploading in like, almost two weeks, i know i'm an ass! i just had a lot of uni work to attend to, and i still have but i really did want to upload bc of that damn cliffhanger last week.  
> i'm hoping to update the next one very soon, preferably this week again, so stay tuned for that. this chapter is also not really funny imo, and feels like a filler to me?? somehow?? even though this fic has no genuine, working plot?? WILD  
> anyroad i do hope you enjoyed, be sure to leave kudos/comments whatever you'd like :P  
> xxx


	13. do you love me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paul merely smiled again, eyes crinkling. “I love John, y’know.”  
> “Just as much as you love me?”  
> “More.”  
> **  
> Geo-centric. Paul's high and a lovesick bastard, Ringo's oddly flirty, John doesn't know how to flirt. George needs to clean and is also a great wingman. (in his own opinion, of course)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI HERE I AM AGAIN YES. It was my birthday yesterday, yet I managed to churn this one out because I am BAFFLED by the amount of support this is still getting??? There are so. many. comments you guys. Holy shit. Thank you SO MUCH for that, every single comment cheers me up so much. the comment-count might actually soon catch up with the kudos-count, lmao.  
> ANYWAY. unedited, but did you expect anything else? no. this is not a serious fic. it doesnt need editing(unless i think so)

 

> **_****WARNING PLEASE READ****_ **
> 
> **SOMEWHERE IN THIS CHAPTER THERE'S A VERY BRIEF, 100 WORD DESCRIPTION OF A BLOODIED FLOOR. IT IS NOT NECESSARY TO READ THIS(nothing is necessary, ofc, but you get the drill) IF YOU DON'T FEEL UP TO THAT, I'VE MARKED THE SECTION OFF WITH *~*(see what i did there? it's like a squeamish face lmao) IF YOU REALLY DON'T LIKE THAT, YOU CAN SKIP THIS.**
> 
> **_****END OF WARNING****_ **

 

 **_2_ ** **_0:15_ **

Paul was still fuckin’ high.

Whatever those painkillers had been, they _indeed_ were the good stuff. The boy had been yapping about everything and nothing for the past twenty minutes now, probably chatting everyone’s ear off during the scan as well. He’d talked about the colour of the little cabinets next to his bed(a reddish brown) to the colour of his blanket(a pastel pink) to the way said blanket felt(soft), and he somehow, _somehow,_ managed to relate everything to John.

_Everything._

The cabinets were almost the same colour as John’s hair, but not good enough. His blanket was as soft as John’s hair, but not soft enough. And the colour of the blanket? The pastel pink? John’s honest-to-God _lips_ \- but not _John_ enough. It was pure hell, _even if it was the cutest fuckin’ thing George had ever seen,_ and he felt himself growing more and more tired as Paul babbled on about John.

It was frustrating. Honestly, Geo hadn’t understood John’s wish to throw a dining chair across the room at a friend he so obviously loved. Though it’d been a spur-of-the-moment kind of thing, fuelled by rage and spite and George’s sarcastic encouragement, George had never really felt that level of aggression towards a friend _(though maybe Pete Best had been rather close to that once, when they’d gotten very high and the boy had compared George’s guitar playing to the clucking of a chicken - but he hadn’t fuckin’ yeeted his guitar across the room to hit Pete square in the face, mainly because his guitar was very expensive but also because it was too much trouble. John had, however, very lovingly slammed his notebook against Pete’s nose and had told him to fuck off. See?? John was always the one up for bullshit like that, not George.)_ and had also never expected to ever feel that way. And when Paul had decided to compliment George’s lashes, George could not have felt more fond of his high-as-balls friend.

But when Paul took back that compliment to say, and he’s quoting now, _“that John’s lashes are prettier”,_ George _did_ understand John’s enjoyment for throwing stuff at his friends’ faces.

“Would you like this chair in yer face, Macca?” he asked sweetly, mere minutes after Paul oh-so-nicely had started to compare John and George’s jawlines - John’s being better, _of fuckin’ course_. “Might shut ye up a little.”

“You’re _mean,”_ Paul giggled, shoving his finger in George’s face. George wrinkled his nose in retaliation, and Paul tapped it a couple of times. “But I do love ye _loads_ , y’know.”

George couldn’t help but smile. “Of course I do, mate. I love you too.”

“Loads?”

“Loads,” George affirmed.

“Good.” Paul paused, stretching out his arm and spreading his fingers. The nail polish he’d put on a couple of days ago had started to chip off and he wiggled them, pouting. “Y’know, Geo?”

“Hm?”

“I want to stay here the night, ‘cause I think tha’s smart, like. Y’know?” he looked at George, his eyes even bigger than normal, and blinked a couple of times. “But I don’t wanna stay here _alone.”_

“Oh.” He should’ve expected that, honestly. Of course Paul didn’t want to stay alone in a hospital. John spoke the truth before he stormed out: Paul didn’t _like_ hospitals, and yet he still decided to stay the night. “D’ye want me to-”

His phone buzzed, and Ringo’s name lit up the screen. He quickly unlocked his phone, scanning over the messages and replying quickly.

“Who’s tha’?” Paul asked, yawning a little. He’d decided to play with the longer locks near George’s ear, twisting the curly-ish hair round his finger. “You oughta get it cut, Georgie.”

“Should I?” George answered distractedly, typing one last thing. “It’s gettin’ a bit long, huh?”

“Yeah,” Paul replied. “It’s pretty though.”

He looked up from the screen with a grin and winked. “I’m always pretty, mate.”

Paul cackled and threw his head back a little too enthusiastically, head smashing against the pillow. He then quickly leaned forward with a small _“ow”._ George calmly brushed some hair aside to check the wound.

“It’s not bleedin’,” he muttered, playfully tapping Paul on the nose. “Be more careful, you lil’ shite you.”

“Sorry,” Paul whined, and there were tears in his eyes. He rubbed them away with his fist. “I just forgot.”

“Yeah, well, _don’t.”_ George’s phone buzzed again, and he opened the text from Ringo quickly. He tried to hide his smile from Paul after reading about John’s _slightly_ dramatic reaction, and replied. “Ritchie and John are on their way here, okay?”

“Are they?” Paul gasped, and a large smile spread across his face. “I’m gonna see Johnny again, huh?”

George stifled a laugh, typing another message. “You saw ‘im less than an hour ago, Paulie.”

“Yeah but he was mad then.” Paul blinked, and within seconds his mood changed again: his bottom lip started to tremble and his eyes teared up. George managed to refrain himself from sighing in annoyance. It wasn’t Paul’s fault, of course; being doped up on a strong painkiller and having a concussion both don’t exactly help one control their emotions. “You reckon ‘e’s still mad?”

“Expect ‘e’s not,” George answered, thinking back at Ringo’s little revelation of John almost crying at the notion of Paul wanting him to stay. He reached out and poked Paul in the cheek, making the older boy smile. “Might actually be quite happy to see ye again, mate.”

“I saw him less than an hour ago,” Paul pointed out.

George whistled. “Ye’re parroting me, fucker.”

Paul merely smiled again, eyes crinkling. “I love John, y’know.”

“Just as much as you love me?”

_“More.”_

George gasped, slapping the blanket, and Paul giggled again. _“Blasphemy,”_ he hissed playfully. “Art thou out of thyne mind?”

 _“Nay!”_ Paul screeched when George brushed his fingers across his side as a threat. “I love ‘im _differently,_ alright!?”

Retreating his hand, George smiled. “In what way then, love?” he asked, typing his last message to Ringo.

“He makes me feel good, y’know,” Paul replied, staring dreamily off into space within seconds of thinking of John. “He’s all warm ‘n safe ‘n _cute._ I love his eyes and his smile and his hands and holy _shit_ Geo, have you _seen_ his legs?”

“I have,” George said, trying his very best not to snort. “They’re alright.”

“They’re _perfect,”_ Paul sighed and he dramatically waved his hands around, accidentally hitting George in the face. “There’s this thing ‘e does, y’know, where he just sort of laughs really loudly at first and immediately tries to tame it, ‘cause he’s insecure. And that first part of his laugh is so _beautiful,_ y’know, when there’s no restraint, ‘cause he giggles like a little kid and I love that _so_ much.”

George heart felt like it was going to burst. “Christ, Paul darlin’, yer whipped.”

 _“I know,”_ Paul whined again. “It’s _bad.”_

 _No, no no,_ George thought, and his inner devil cackled alongside his inner angel. _No. This is good. Very good indeed._

“Might be better than ye expect, mate,” he merely stated, and winked.

Paul just grinned, brightly and innocently.

****

**_20:43_ **

John and Paul’s little reunion had gone great.

There had been no animosity whatsoever. Paul had just about catapulted himself out of bed and into John’s arms to give him a hug, but Geo had managed to restrain him in the nick of time, beckoning John closer instead. After taking a couple of tentative steps towards an _overjoyed_ Paul, John, ever the romantic, had patted Paul’s nose as a way of saying _“hi”._

George had wanted to slam his head against a table.

Sadly, he had to save the lecture on the art of courting he was going to bestow upon John for later, as Ringo had dragged him out of the little hospital room right after rummaging through different cupboards, barely giving him time to say goodbye to his two friends.

Not that he _could,_ anyway. Both John and Paul were _way_ too busy staring at each other to notice his disappearance.

_(No, he wasn’t bitter.)_

They were now on their way home, back to the apartment. Both Paul and John needed stuff to stay the night comfortably, so after packing a small bag Ringo would drive back towards the hospital to drop their stuff off while George would busy himself with cleaning up the mess they’d left behind.

After arriving at the apartment they both just about had a heart attack at finding their door unlocked, before realising one mere second after storming inside armed with their keys and an empty packet of spearmints as a makeshift knife that they _themselves_ had left the front door unlocked in their haste to get Paul to the ER. George slumped against the door of their toilet with a sigh and Ringo produced a throaty groan in relief.

“Okay,” Ringo said as soon as he was done groaning, “I’ll go grab the stuff Macca and Johnny need, and you go clean.”

“Looking forward to it,” George lied, and Ringo patted his shoulder with a chuckle. As Ringo disappeared up the stairs to pack a small overnight bag for their friends, George braced himself before entering their kitchen.

**_*~*_ **

It sort of looked like a crime scene. A small puddle of blood had formed where Paul had been sitting, some of it smeared across the white tiles from when they’d pulled Paul onto his feet. Occasional drips, every other smudged with imprints of socks and shoes, lead towards the door; when George turned around to observe the laminate flooring of their hallway, he saw a couple of bright red drops he hadn’t noticed before. Though he was glad it didn’t look worse than the result of a very heavy nosebleed, blood was still blood and when congealed it was a pain to clean.

**_*~*_ **

Biting down on his bottom lip, he carefully jumped over the spill, grabbed a bucket, some bleach, a new trashbag and some paper towels from the cupboard, and set to work.

Though he didn’t have a lot of experience cleaning something _this_ bad, he did know how to clean: his mother had dragged him around the house on multiple occasions whenever he had a free day, stuffing his arms with dusters and damp wipes to scrub at surfaces. Later, when he’d reached his early teens, she’d ply him with money for a guitar, CD’s, and even headphones. He’d picked up tips and tricks from her, from how putting some pieces of onion in the soapy water for window cleaning would make the glass extra shiny, to how vinegar cleans the shit out of dirty tile grout. Bleach usually did the trick with blood on hard surfaces, like tiles _. “Not to be confused with clothing,”_ he heard his mother tut in his ear as he wiped away the small puddle with a shit ton of paper towels, _“fresh blood can be washed away with cold water and older blood can be cleaned from cloth with shampoo.”_

When most of the icky stuff had been cleared, he squirted some of the bleach on the worst area and decided to let it sit as he cleaned up the rest. Just as he was wiping the drops from the hallway, Ringo came bounding down the stairs.

“It smells like a swimming pool in here,” he said, wrinkling his nose. He’d swung a black backpack over his shoulder, squinting at a squatting Geo. “Also, nice underwear, mate.”

“I’m cleaning with bleach and it sort of smells like chlorine,” George explained, flipping Ringo off before continuing to wipe at a particularly dried-out spot. “Also, don’t stare at my arse.”

“Don’t wave it about in my beautiful face then,” Ringo retorted. He skipped around Geo, digging in his pocket for his car keys, and opened the front door. “Gets me to think all sorts of things.”

He winked at George’s embarrassed yelp, and the door slammed shut with a loud bang.

****

**_groupchat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_3 online_

****

**_21:34_ **

_Goerge:_ pff okay I’m finally done cleaning

 _Goerge:_ Ringo are you already on your way back? I’m fuckin starvin and there’s nothing to eat

 _Eggboy:_ youve got nuthin??

 _Goerge:_ nop

 _Ringo:_ are u sure?? i’m just filling up rn but i can go by mcdonalds if you wanna

 _Ringo:_ i’m hungry to

 _Goerge:_ to

 _Eggboy:_ to

 _Eggboy:_ paul also says to

 _Ringo:_ fuck you

 _Goerge:_ anyway there’s nothing here yea so mcdonalds would be great

 _Ringo:_ okay! so like, mcchicken for you then?

 _Goerge:_ ritch I’m a vegetarian remember

 _Ringo:_ oh shit yea

 _Eggboy:_ bold of you to assume there’s chicken in the mcchicken

 _Goerge:_ you know what that’s fair

 _Ringo:_ but what the fuck would ye like from mcdonalds then

 _Eggboy:_ paul says there’s a vegetarian burger

 _Eggboy:_ the veggie mcchicken

 _Goerge:_ I’ll have that then

 _Ringo:_ pff okay

 _Goerge:_ thanks!!!

 _Ringo:_ hmpf

 _Goerge:_ hey john can you ask paul if he’s had the burger before?

 _Eggboy:_ I’ve literally just gone to the toilet so you’re gonna have to wait

 _Goerge:_ ah

****

**_private chat_ **

_“Goerge” is online_

_“Eggboy” is online_

****

**_21:40_ **

_Goerge:_ so have you two snogged yet or what

 _Eggboy:_ christ geo what the fuck??

 _Goerge:_ well have you???

 _Eggboy:_ first off, weird question while im takin a bloody sHITE

 _Goerge:_ gross could’ve done without that info

 _Eggboy:_ second, why the fuck would you like to know??

 _Eggboy:_ third, no, we havent

 _Goerge:_ is it so bad that I’m invested in my best friends’ love lives???

 _Eggboy:_ yes.

 _Goerge:_ aw suck a dick babe

 _Goerge:_ preferably paulie’s

 _Eggboy:_ george i will cut you

 _Goerge:_ tough love

 _Goerge:_ anyway why the hell haven’t you kissed yet?? it was literally a perfect moment when you came in

 _Goerge:_ as if bloody prince charming had galloped inside the fuckin hospital room on a white horse

 _Goerge:_ he just about orgasmed

 _Eggboy:_ can you??? stop???

 _Goerge:_ no.

 _Goerge:_ he was daydreaming about your everything mate

 _Goerge:_ “Oh jOHn iS So peRFecT hiS eYeLAshEs aRE betTeR thAn yOurS geO” and other bullshit like that

 _Eggboy:_ he said that??

 _Goerge:_ pff yea, OBVIOUSLY love makes blind bc I’ve got the best eyelashes

 _Eggboy:_ oh my god

 _Goerge:_ no it’s george

 _Goerge:_ but whatever, if you don’t want to kiss him who gives a fuck

 _Goerge:_ s not like I’m rootin for ye or have got a bet goin

 _Eggboy:_ geo what

 _Goerge:_ all I’m saying is that I’m not willing to give ritchie thirty pounds, alright john?

 _Goerge:_ so get on with it eggman

****

_“Goerge” is offline_

  
_Eggboy:_ oh my god


	14. OH

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> john is realising his feelings are a bunch of cowardly arseholes, paul is somewhat high but very adorable, george is curious bc,,, who wouldn't be??
> 
> **
> 
> John was brooding.  
> GOD, he was such a little bitch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI THERE. It's been a week, damn.  
> Anyway, here I am with another lil' chapter for y'all!! It's hilarious(to me, at least) and also a little sad(also to me) how much pleasure torturing John in this fic gives me. Poor guy is all over the place with his emotions and feelings and hormones.  
> I have heard your begging for a good ol' mclennon snog loud 'n clear, but I enjoy pining too much for this. Idk, maybe it'll be there soon, maybe not. We'll see.  
> Unedited, as always, so don't mind the typos!  
> I hope you enjoy :)

**_21:54_ **

By the time John had gathered himself enough to be able to  _ casually  _ return to Paul’s room, he was still red in the face. Fuckin’ George with his fuckin’...  _ suggestions  _ and all that shite. He wasn’t- he couldn’t just-  _ Paul didn’t  _ like _ him that way _ . Even if he’d been  _ “daydreaming”  _ about John’s supposed  _ (alleged)  _ looks, that was just appreciation, right? In the same way they all appreciated George’s sharp jawline and pointy teeth, and Ritchie’s baby blues, and Paul’s  _ sin-worthy  _ mouth-

_ Pull yourself together, Lennon! _

John took a deep, shuddering breath before he pushed the door open to the private-ish hospital room Paul was staying in, quickly taking everything in before landing his gaze on Paul. The younger boy was sitting up in bed, bent over some sort of game, tapping the touchscreen of the console frustratedly with the stylus.

Ringo had been genius and kind enough to not only bring some change of clothes, John’s glasses, the little pods for his contacts and his contact solution, but also Paul’s phone and George’s Nintendo DSi. Paul had fuckin’ _ screeched  _ in glee after Ringo had waved the matte black console around with a grin, and had excitedly slapped John on the bicep when Ringo had fished out not one, not two, but three games. Pokémon was, of course, Paul’s first choice, but he’d kindly refused to play it while still talking with John. He appreciated that, figured that that meant that Paul liked him enough to like being in his presence. 

As John slowly shuffled closer, Paul cursed loudly at the screen. He pulled at his fringe harshly and muttered something incomprehensible under his breath.

“Hey,” he said softly, dropping himself into the rather  _ uncomfortable  _ chair seated next to the hospital bed. Paul looked up from his -  _ George’s -  _ game, pouting, and reached out to poke John in the cheek. 

“You took fuckin’ ages, Johnny,” he grumbled, directing his gaze back to the game and selecting some things with the stylus yet again. “Rude.”

John quirked his mouth into a smile. “Did ya miss me?” he cooed, leaning a bit closer. He rested his elbows on the mattress and cast a glance at the screen of the DSi. Paul was saving the game, apparently, and after the process was complete he shut the thing with a  _ clack _ and placed it on the bedside table. He turned his head, apparently not frightened by John’s face being close enough to rub their noses together in an “eskimo kiss”, and smiled goofily. His eyes were rather unfocused and glassy, a sign of him being high still. 

“I did,” he murmured, “but you’re here now.”

John felt his heart flutter and leaned back quickly, cheeks on  _ fuckin’  _ fire. Paul merely continued to smile and reached out his hand, running his fingers through John’s messy hair. 

“I’m really glad you wanted to stay ‘ere, y’know,” he said, a giggle in his voice.

“Geo would’ve stayed,” John pointed out. 

Paul nodded excitedly. “He would’ve! Yes! But I’m glad it’s you, though Joj is sweet too.”

To John’s dismay, a small bubble of something bitter he identified as jealousy crept up and popped at the back of his throat. He willed himself to calm down. George was one of Paul’s best friends as well,  _ of course _ Paul would’ve appreciated him staying. He had no right to feel any type of jealousy over that: George had been Paul’s friend  _ before  _ John had been, they’d shared bus rides and hot summers and silly laughter about their annoying schoolmates and stuffy teachers. They’d taught each other how to play the guitar, were regulars at each other’s houses. Jim liked George more than he liked John. 

John swallowed and shot Paul a strained smile. “You should write that down.”

Paul’s glassy eyes twinkled. “Get yer notes out then, son.”

 

**_private chat_ **

_ “Goerge” is online _

_ “Eggboy” is offline _

 

**_23:14_ **

_ Goerge:  _ have you two snogged yet then

_ Goerge:  _ John mate c’mon tell me

_ Goerge:  _ seriously I can’t really afford to lose thirty pounds

_ Goerge: _  JOHN

 

**_23:36_ **

It was lights out. 

A nurse had come into their room, telling them to  _ “shut up and go to sleep” _ as Paul needed all the rest he could get,  _ apparently,  _ and that she would be back in two hours to check up on them and wake Paul. They’d been in a  _ great _ songwriting mood - or,  _ well,  _ what they’d produced was shit but it enabled John to make silly suggestions that had Paul giggling and any type of giggling from Paul cheered John the fuck up - so having it cut short was a bit of a bummer. He had to bite back a sneer at the sight of her adoring smile at Paul’s little salute, retreating to his  _ own  _ bed with a scowl after Paul  _ agreed  _ with the nurse’s chastising comments on him taking too long to get ready for bed, and was currently lying with his back to his best friend. 

He was brooding. 

_ God,  _ he was such a little bitch. 

It was actually sad how much he already hated the thought of Paul liking anyone other than him romantically. It had not even been a week after he’d blurted his little realisation out to Geo that one early morning in their kitchen, the smell of fresh cookies and Paul’s conditioner in his nose, and he already felt like biting the head off anyone who got to close. 

Now that he was thinking about it, though, he’d felt that way for way longer. He’d been oddly possessive over the boy ever since bloody meeting him in Pete Shutton’s garage, had felt adoration flow through his veins at every sassy reply Paul managed to throw out as retaliation to his witty comments. Paul had not only been  _ absurdly  _ pretty(like he very much still was) but had always been able to somewhat keep up with him verbally. He appreciated that. 

Though George could as well, easily, maybe a little  _ too  _ easy. Ritchie had a little more trouble. Still, John felt a baffling amount of fondness for both of them, but not in the way he felt it for Paul. 

Not in the way he’d  _ always  _ felt it for Paul.

_ Oh, God.  _ John stifled a groan in his pillow, wanted to disappear in the fluffy mass.

“You alright there?” came Paul’s voice, oddly quiet in the pressing silence of the room. “Are ye comfortable?”

John’s breathing hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut, dragging his hand over his face, before turning over to face Paul. He had  _ terrible  _ eyesight, contacts currently soaking in solution in their case, so there was just one Paul-shaped blur on the other side of the room. Though honestly, Paul could’ve been fuckin’ Putin and he would've been none the wiser. 

The younger was on his side, John guessed, as he was probably unable to be comfortable on his back with that nasty wound at the back of his head. And even if John didn’t see shit, he still stared.

“I’m good,” John breathed, almost entranced by the pale, skin-coloured blotch that was Paul’s  _ fuckin’ _ face. “I’m good.”

He detected a stretch around the mouth area and a flash of white teeth- the Paul-blur smiled sleepily, and John could’ve sworn his heart just about flew out of the window. “Good,” he replied, and he produced a yawn. “I’m glad.”

“Glad you’re glad, mate.”

“Good,” Paul repeated. He smiled again. “You wonder what the others are doin’ now?”

John blinked. “Others?”

“Yeah,” Paul paused, frowning a little. “Y’know, Ritchie and Geo, like.”

_ ‘Oh,’  _ John thought, disappointed for a reason he could not place.

“Oh,” John said, still disappointed for a reason he could not place.

“Oh,” Paul echoed. “You don’t then?”

“Think ‘bout them?”

“Yeah,” he yawned again. “Don’t ye?”

John thought, deeply. He racked his brain, thinking of Geo and Ringo in their apartment now, George probably exhausted from cleaning and wining about his black eye and blocked nose and the broken dining chair, Ringo probably patiently nodding, only half-listening. He thought of Paul and him sitting there as well, him making biting comments at a sneering George, and Paul just laughing fondly. 

And a thought came up. 

“I do,” he answered, curiosity itching at his brain. “A little, just.”

“Like what?”

“Geo told me a lil’ something, the other day.” John started. He was already nervous.  _ Christ.  _ “Or well, y’know. When ye caught us makin’ cookies. Then.”

“What?”

John shot up in bed, heart rate increasing significantly. “You don’t remember?”

The Paul-blur appeared to turn his head a little, hiding his laugh in his pillow. “Kiddin’,”

He sank back onto the bed, relaxing a little.  _ “Git.” _

“I know,” Paul said with something that was probably a grin. “But continue.”

“Alright,” John paused, gathering his thoughts. “Alright. He told me - he told me you two kissed, ‘n all tha’.”

“Oh.”

“He told me to ask you ‘bout it.” John squinted, looking through his eyelashes at Paul. It didn’t improve his sight one bit. “So.”

“So?”

“So did ye?” John huffed, pulling the blankets a little tighter around him. “Kiss, I mean.”

The Paul-blur lifted a hand and brought it to his face. “We did.”

“Oh.”

“I think we were like, thirteen?” Paul’s voice was soft, tired, but oddly calming still. John bit down harshly on his lip. “We were in me room, playin’ some song, I don’t remember which one - doesn’t matter. Anyway, Geo played this fuckin’  _ perfect  _ riff, y’know. And I was in awe, and ‘e just sort of shrugged ‘n plucked at some strings like he always does when he’s feelin’ nervous or insecure, y’know, and I’s like  _ “holy shit! That was great!”  _ and he just went  _ “it was whatever, mate”  _ and I went  _ “no! It was great!”  _ and we bantered for a little while and then he just looked at me and blurted out that he’d liked me before and was kind of confused.” Paul paused, and when he continued, John could hear the giggle in his voice. “And I was like,  _ “mate, I like you too”  _ and he went  _ “no, no, no, not like that, like more than friendship, like”  _ and John, I swear to God, I felt like I was on cloud  _ nine.” _

John’s heart dropped, somehow, for no clear reason at all.

“I’d liked ‘im too, you see, more than friends, like. And I realised I wasn’t alone then. That lads could like lads like they could like birds and that it wasn’t  _ abnormal,  _ y’know? So I said that, all excited, like, and he went beet red and stuttered something like  _ “holy shit”  _ and I said  _ “should we kiss?”  _ and he said  _ “let’s try” _ so we chucked our guitars to the side and just mashed our mouths together.”

“And?” he asked, though he was afraid of the answer. 

“It was nice, I suppose,” Paul said. “Softer than I’d imagined. Like how birds kiss, y’know? But it was also really weird, because even though I’d liked him before I didn’t really see him that way anymore. And then he pulled back and made a face and said it felt like kissing his brother, and said  _ “yeah, it’s weird!” _ and we then looked at each other and just burst out in laughter.”

He was almost ashamed of the amount of relief that was rushing through his body at that moment, the tenseness in his shoulders disappearing. As if he would’ve had  _ any  _ type of influence over those two at that age. They wouldn’t meet for another two years, and it was ridiculous to be jealous over something that happened six years ago, pre- _ him.  _

“We giggled for what must’ve been ten minutes,” Paul recalled, a smile in his voice. “And then Geo said- he said,  _ “we’re queer, but not for each other, huh?”  _ and I said  _ “maybe a little, then”  _ and he gasped and jus’ about  _ cried  _ out  _ “we’re just too pretty for each other, lad” _ and I agreed and that was that.”

John bit his lip in thought. “So you like lads too then?”

Another giggle. “Ye didn’t figure that one out from me story, huh?”

“I didn’t just wanna assume,” John muttered, turning to lie on his back. “Might’ve been a phase, I dunno.”

“Well, it wasn’t,” Paul answered, “and I do. Like lads, I mean. Used to crush on Buddy Holly, believe it or not.”

“Yer kiddin’.”

“No!” Paul laughed. “His somewhat nerdy appearance made me  _ weak,  _ mate, though his voice more so. Elvis too.”

“Hm.”

“And besides,” the younger one said, a teasing tone to his voice, “how can’t I like lads, with you as my bandmates?”

John just about had a heart attack before the actual words penetrated his brain. Bandmates _. Mates.  _ Plural. Not just him, but Ritchie and Geo too. 

“Handsome lot we are,” he said, hoping that his disappointment wasn’t noticeable in his voice.

“Humble, too.”

“I  _ know.” _

They fell silent. A nurse walked past, their sneakers, though rather silent, still audibly slapping against the linoleum as they did their rounds. Paul’s steady breathing slowed, signalling to John that he was about to fall asleep. John, however, was still wide awake, staring at the blurry, dark ceiling with wide eyes. Why was it, now that he knew, that he felt so much adrenaline all of a sudden? Paul wasn’t straight. Paul did not  _ just  _ like birds - he liked lads as well.  _ Lads.  _ Proper lads, like George, angular and long-legged, and like Ringo, cute and tough at the same time. Like Elvis, with a charming smile and a smooth baritone, and like Buddy Holly, one of those classic boys that made Paulie weak in the knees, with his dark-rimmed glasses and clean appearance and bright, somewhat awkward smile. 

And maybe like him, too. 

He oughta wear his glasses more often.

**_private chat_ **

_ “Goerge” is online _

_ “Eggboy” is offline _

**_00:04_ **

_ Goerge:  _ askin this again one more time

_ Goerge:  _ have you two snogged yet or nah

_ Goerge:  _ confessed yer undying love for each other or something 

_ Goerge:  _ John I’m serious I’m fuckin ITCHING for details and Ritchie is too

_ Goerge:  _ John???

**_00:17_ **

_ Goerge:  _ Ritchie hit me round the back of the head saying that hospital hours work differently

_ Goerge:  _ whatever the fuck that means

_ Goerge:  _ anyway sweet dreams you two

_ Goerge:  _ and in the morning

_ Goerge:  _ I expect DETAILS 

_ Goerge:  _ xxxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE IS NOT NEARLY ENOUGH RINGO IN THIS CHAPTER. I KNOW THAT. I'M SORRY. MY BABY WILL GET HIS MOMENT I SWEAR.


	15. l a s a g n e

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> paul and john have an argument. ringo gets dirty. george becomes a mother. 
> 
> **
> 
> “But then we got to know ye, and realised you’re about as intimidating as a bunny.”  
> He beamed. “I’ve got a strong kick too!”  
> “That you do,” George grinned back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND HERE I AM, HAVING UPDATED. Sometimes I manage to be quick, but this somehow managed to grasp my interest. I’ve also got a little more time on my hands, since I have no proper “final exams” now at the end of term, just two (rather long) essays but they’re not due till the end of the month so whoop!!  
> Excuse the typos :) but!!! more ringo!!!!

**_18:46_ **

Ringo was a bit disgruntled. Just a bit.

John and Paul were having an argument, and it was about bloody food.

… Sort of. 

After Paul’s _incident_ \- the lad cracked his fuckin’ skull open, he did - John outright refused to let the boy cook.He’d ushered a slightly amused George into the kitchen after the third day of takeout, knowing full-well that Geo was the only one besides Paul who knew how to cook a fuckin’ egg(even if he added too much spices, the results were always decently edible). From George’s both flattered-and-annoyed tone that night in their shared bedroom as he whispered what John’d ushered him in for, it’d become clear to Ringo. John, apparently, had big plans on becoming a the next masterchef. And so, with the help of the lovely Geo, he’d been whipping up meals like a fuckin’ natural. They all tasted great - John’s tendency to not use any seasoning on, well, _anything_ and George’s tendency to dump a whole fuckin’ pot of chilli through his vegetarian bolognese-sauce somehow was a match made in heaven. But as the weeks crept by, Ringo could see it was starting to annoy their Paul.

Macca had taken on the _mum-role_ of their friend group since the very start, tending to their battle wounds, making sure they ate on time, and being generally annoying, naggy, and a know-it-all. For example, whenever John got into a fight that physically harmed him, Paul was usually the one to lap him up. Whenever one of them was sick, Paul was usually the one to nurse them back to health. Paul was the designated cook, always, because John and Ringo couldn’t cook a meal to save their life and Geo always put in - like said before - _way_ too much spice, which was something none of them _except_ Geo could handle. And, though George usually did their laundry, Paul oftentimes complained that their youngest friend was _‘doing it wrong’_.

(After the hundredth snappy complaint Geo had stomped off. Paul, apparently thinking he’d won this round, decided to re-do the laundry but couldn’t figure out how the thing worked. After ten minutes of fussing and swearing he got square in the face with the manual, thrown by a smirking-yet-fuming George. Macca had walked around with a gigantic scratch on his face from the paper for a couple of weeks after.)

But now, after Paul’s accident, he couldn’t really do anything. Or, rather, John didn’t _allow_ him to do anything. Paul was to sit on the sofa, or do non-straining exercise, or just generally not get too excited about anything. They allowed him to do gigs with them though, and he still was speaking the loudest at any meetings they had with George and Brian. And though it was _hilarious_ to see John be the perfect anxious housewife for a grown man who he wasn’t even dating - _‘YET!’_ , Ringo heard George screech inside his head - Ringo knew that Paul wasn’t loving it. Apparently, having to relinquish his control over something he loved that much was really getting on his nerves, because he got snappier by day(though that might’ve also been because of the concussion and because they were trying to - doctor’s orders - ease him off the pain medication he’d been given and, erm, _enthusiastically_ taking).

And now, he’d blown up about _lasagne_ of all things.

Yes.

_Lasagne._

They’d already been eating when Paul’d paused mid-bite and said that it wasn’t seasoned well enough. John had playfully gasped, and George and Ringo had rolled their eyes in good-humour.

 _‘Well excuse me, princess,’_ John’d said, _‘maybe you should supervise next time.’_

And then, Paul had started yelling _._ Half of it hadn’t even registered with Ringo, so shocked had he been at the sudden change of Paul’s mood, up until the point John started yelling back. Something about _‘not being made of glass’_ and _‘just trying to protect you’_ was thrown through the air at a ridiculous volume, and it hurt Ringo’s ears.

Ringo turned his head to look at George, who looked shocked yet used to it(which was a rather concerning combination), and then directed his gaze back to his fighting friends.

“I’M DONE!” Paul screamed, face reddened with rage, accent stronger than it’s ever been. “I CAN’T DO SHIT IN THIS FUCKIN’ HOUSE. LET ME _LIVE,_ LENNON!”

“YOU’RE FUCKING INJURED!” John hollered back. He appeared to be genuinely crying, tears dripping down his cheeks. “YOU CAN’T JUST- JUST BLOODY KEEP ON DOING ALL THE STUFF YOU USED TO DO! YOU NEED TO HEAL-”

“HEALIN’ MY HAIRY LEFT _ARSECHEEK-”_

At some point the two of them had decided that sitting down was apparently a bit too _casual,_ so they’d opted for standing as they hurled abuse at each other. _‘It really does emphasize their point,’_ Ringo thought when Paul jabbed his finger in John’s chest. _‘Whatever the fuck their point is supposed to be, then.’_

Right after he’d finished that thought, Paul produced a blood curdling screech(Ringo saw George wince visibly) and slammed his fist down on the table, almost giving Ringo a heart attack.

“I AM NOT A BLOODY _CHILD,_ JOHN,” he shouted, sounding awfully close to tears. He snatched his plate from the table and fuckin’ _yeeted_ it away from him. It sailed through the air, almost in slow-motion, as the lasagne lifted from the tableware, the ceramic itself grazing a petrified George’s cheek and shattering against the cupboard behind them. The lasagne, though, partially hit Ringo in the shoulder, the rest splattering against the door of their fridge. He felt sauce dripping from his ear.

All of them stared at Ringo, wide-eyed.

“Wow,” Ringo said, slightly offended.

“WHAT THE _FUCK,_ MCCARTNEY-” John yelled, swiftly turning around. Paul was already halfway over the threshold, storming away, and John had the brilliant plan to race out after him. His swearing was heard until the front door clicked closed gently.

George and Ringo sat there for a little while in absolute silence, before George turned to look at him. There was a small splatter of sauce on his cheek.

“Would ye like a glass of water?” George asked drily, lips pursed in either annoyance or amusement.

Ringo blinked. “Yes, thanks mate.”

George swiftly stood up and took a glass out of the cupboard, before walking over to the sink to fill it. “So,” he said casually, watching as the glass filled up, “that happened.”

“It sure did,” he sighed, still a bit baffled by what happened.

George gave him a tight little smile as he plonked the glass of water in front of Ringo, then turning to pluck some paper towels from the roll ont he counter. “They haven’t been this angry with each other in years,” he said, wiping at Ringo’s ear, neck, and cheek.“Last time was probably jus’ after we met ye and wanted to replace Pete.”

Ringo bit his lip. “Was tha’ because of me?”

 _“What?”_ George let out a shocked little laugh and balled the dirty paper up in his hand, moving to throw it away. “I don’t think so. I don’t even remember what it was about. They fight a lot, right? Never this bad though.” He paused as he sat back down, a contemplative expression on his handsome face. “I think it might’ve been because Stu had just quit the band to be able to focus full-time on his art and on Astrid. I always thought there was somethin’ going on between John and ‘im, because they always _looked_ at each other a certain way, y’know? But, then, John and Paul also looked and still look at each other like that, and John still seems _incredibly_ reluctant to admit to feeling romantic feelings for lads, so maybe it was just an undiscovered crush. Either way, John was feelin’ rather shitty about it, and Paul had _obviously_ been jealous about John and Stu’s relationship the entire time, so he made some dickish comment and John just fuckin’ blew up. After yelling at each other for about an hour they split ways and didn’t talk for two and a half weeks. They would both always come over to mine to complain ‘bout it. Usually missed each other by minutes, and then one time they didn’t and made up in my room,” he chuckled.

Ringo gaped. “About Stuart?!” when George nodded, he mouthed a ‘wow’. “Never knew that.”

“Well ye didn’t really know us yet, huh?” Geo said, taking Ringo’s glass and gulping half of it down. He grinned at Ringo’s glare. “Don’t look at me like tha’, mate. We were scared to bits of ye, with yer tracksuit and glare and jewelry. Fuckin’ diamond earrings. One time you beat up a guy, right in front of our noses, and he couldn’t even walk home. Just about shat me trousers when you turned around and glared at us.”

Ringo frowned. “I’ve only beaten up one person and that was Duke Smith. He couldn’t walk because he was wasted, I beat him up because he was being disgusting towards his then-girlfriend. Then I helped him home.” He paused. “You shat your pants?”

George’s eyes twinkled. “Just about.” He then leaned forward, tapping his fingers lovingly against Ringo’s wrist. “But then we got to know ye, and realised you’re about as intimidating as a bunny.”

He beamed. “I’ve got a strong kick too!”

“That you do,” George grinned back.

****

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_2 online_

****

**_19:17_ **

_Ringo:_ hi @Macca @Eggboy it’s been bloody ages now

 _Ringo:_ your mother and i are wondering when your coming home

 _Goerge:_ first off, it’s *you’re

 _Goerge:_ second, why am I the mother???

 _Ringo:_ idk you just give off vibes similar to those of me mam when paulie’s not here

 _Goerge:_ idk if I should take that as a compliment or not

 _Ringo:_ do whatever you want

 _Goerge:_ cool so it’s not a compliment

 _Goerge:_ get fucked Ritchie.

 _Ringo:_ the fact that you capitalized my name shows that you care

 _Ringo:_ and by you always !!!

 _Goerge:_ hnnnhhpff

 _Ringo:_ that somehow completely matched the sound you made, congrats

 _Goerge:_ ANYWAY @Macca @Eggboy we know it’s not been ages

 _Ringo:_ IT SURE DOES FEEL LIEK IT THO

 _Goerge:_ but we would LOVE to know when you’ll be getting back so I can like, stop making up scenarios in which you’ve died or something

 _Goerge:_ @Ringo 1\. shut the fuck up

 _Ringo:_ ohhhhhhh

 _Goerge:_ 2\. liek

 _Ringo:_ i knew that was gonna happen!

 _Ringo:_ but yeah, we’d like to know when you’re returning so that we feel less worried

 _Ringo:_ or like, so geo can at least stop biting his nails

 _Goerge:_ yes

 _Goerge:_ please return so I stop biting my nails

 _Ringo:_ exactly

****

**_19:54_ **

_Goerge:_ so I’m still biting my nails

 _Goerge:_ what the fuck, lads

 _Goerge:_ seriously you better be enthusiastically making up/out somewhere for you to not answer yer bloody phones

 _Ringo:_ they’re probably just scared of me

 _Goerge:_ Ritchie I told you

 _Goerge:_ you’re about as frightening as a duckling

 _Ringo:_ no but

 _Ringo:_ paul doused me in lasagne

 _Goerge:_ pff he did

 _Goerge:_ why would you be aggressive tho

 _Ringo:_ there was sauce

 _Ringo:_ in my ear

 _Ringo:_ AFTER i’d showered

 _Goerge:_ ah

 _Goerge:_ okay valid

 _Ringo:_ sauce in my ear gets me agGRESSIVE

 _Goerge:_ kinky

 _Ringo:_ pls stop

 _Goerge:_ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

****

**_20:37_ **

_Goerge:_ IT’S LAAAATE

 _Ringo:_ AND I’M BLEEEDING DEEP INSIDE

 _Goerge:_ IT’S LAAATE

 _Ringo:_ IS IT JUST MY SICKLY PRIIIDE

 _Goerge:_ TOO LAAATE

 _Ringo:_ EVEN NOW THE FEELIN SEEMS TO STEAL AWAY

 _Goerge:_ SO LAAATE

 _Ringo:_ THOUGH IM CRYING I CAN’T HELP BUT HEAR YOU SAAY

 _Goerge:_ IT’S LATE

 _Ringo:_ IT’S LATE

 _Goerge:_ IT’S LATE BUT

 _Ringo:_ BUT NOT TOO LATE

 _Goerge:_ mate wtf I already did the “but”

 _Ringo:_ yea but it doesn’t fuckin belong there now does it

 _Ringo:_ so i’m the one doing this correctly !!!

 _Goerge:_ you had the most lines

 _Ringo:_ that’s no reason to fuck up the lyric

 _Goerge:_ I didn’t fuck up the lyric I just formatted it differently twat

 _Ringo:_ EXCUSES

 _Goerge:_ oh my god get fucked

 _Ringo:_ by you always darlin

 _Goerge:_...

 _Ringo:_ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 _Ringo:_ okay throwing your water at me is a bit excessive

 _Ringo:_ this is a clean shirt !!

 _Goerge:_ the water was gross anyway

 _Ringo:_ wow rude

****

**_20:51_ **

_Ringo:_ geo are u upstairs

 _Ringo:_ geo geo geo geo

 _Ringo:_ geo

 _Ringo:_ geo

 _Ringo:_ geo

 _Ringo:_ geo

 _Ringo:_ GEOOOOOOOO

 _Ringo:_ george mate cmon

 _Goerge:_ why are you so hyper

 _Goerge:_ are you on drugs

 _Ringo:_ …no

 _Ringo:_ why are you upstairs?

 _Goerge:_ I have to write an essay and since you were being annoying I figured I’d start

 _Ringo:_ wOw i mean rude but go george

 _Ringo:_ look at you being a good student

 _Ringo:_ i should be annoying more often

 _Goerge:_ you’re always annoying and I still don’t do shit

 _Goerge:_ this is a one-time thing

 _Ringo:_ FINE no need to be so rude

 _Ringo:_ :((((((((

 _Goerg:_ Ritchie I’m serious did you do any drugs without my knowledge

 _Goerge:_ bc you’re acting very much out of the ordinary

 _Ringo:_ i didn’t !!!!

 _Goerge:_ Richard.

 _Ringo:_ i didn’t do any drugs

 _Ringo:_ i did eat all the candy left tho

 _Goerge:_ that explains it

 _Goerge:_ why did you???

 _Ringo:_ bc i’m an adult human male who can make his own choices ????

 _Goerge:_ RICHARD

 _Ringo:_ …

 _Ringo:_ because i was bored and hungry as we didn’t eat any of the lasagne ??

 _Goerge:_ I-

 _Goerge:_ you could’ve just eaten the goddamn lasagne

 _Goerge:_ I didn’t throw anything away

 _Goerge:_ christ Ringo you know how you get when you’ve had too much sugar

 _Macca:_ there’s the mum inside of ye Geo

 _Goerge:_ Paul!!!

 _Ringo:_!!!

 _Goerge:_ are you coming back now???

 _Macca:_ yea John and I on our way

 _Goerge:_ oh thank god

 _Goerge:_ did you make up???

 _Goerge:_ also you two are fuckin grounded

 _Eggboy:_ we did make up actually

 _Macca:_ just talked about what bothered us and whatever

 _Eggboy:_ btw geo you can drop the mam act now

 _Goerge:_ nah mate it suits me

 _Macca:_ I mean like it does

 _Goerge:_ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 _Eggboy:_ still have no idea how the fuck you do that

 _Macca:_ but I apparently have issues with handing over my authority

 _Macca:_ and as I am injured,

 _Goerge:_ christ.

 _Macca:_ I expect everybody to conform to my wishes

 _Ringo:_ idk if I’m liking that

 _Goerge:_ I second that

 _Eggboy:_ and i third that

 _Eggboy:_ but whatever

 _Goerge:_ John you’ve basically been conforming to his wishes ever since he cracked his fuckin’ head open

 _Eggboy:_ shush.

 _Macca:_ my first order of the day is that we order pizza because I was too angry to eat just now and I’m starving

 _Goerge:_ you’re not home and I am thus not handing over my authority just yet

 _Goerge:_ but holy shit do I agree

 _Macca:_ also we’re probably out of snacks since Ringo went on a “let’s eat all the fuckin candy in the entire apartment”-spree?

 _Ringo:_ … we are

 _Eggboy:_ why dont we just heat up the lasagne???

 _Eggboy:_ i slaved over that son of a bitch

 _Goerge:_ you cut half (0.5) an onion and then stopped bc ur eyes were hurting and I had to do the rest

 _Eggboy:_ which means i SLAVED OVER IT

 _Eggboy:_ imagine the sacrifice

 _Eggboy:_ i gave up comfortable eyesight for that

 _Goerge:_ there went two onions into the recipe(which means I had to cut the rest, btw) and not even five minutes later you were scrolling through instagram

 _Eggboy:_ liKE A CHAMP

 _Goerge:_ did you tho

 _Macca:_ well whatever, I want pizza

 _Macca:_ that lasagne incites bitter feelings deep within me for some reason

 _Goerge:_ you’re pissy bc it represents you not being allowed to bossy

 _Macca:_ exactly.

 _Ringo:_ yea honestly that lasagne too makes me feel a little bitter

 _Ringo:_ can’t think of a reason why

 _Ringo:_ can I, Macca?

 _Macca:_ ………

 _Macca:_ sorry about that

 _Ringo:_ you better be

 _Ringo:_ there was sauce IN MY EAR

 _Macca:_ :(( I had no idea it would hit you

 _Ringo:_ WELL IT DID but it's cool i love you still

 _Macca:_ :) <3

 _Ringo:_ <3

 _Goerge:_ so I’m gonna go order three large cheese pizzas bc we need to watch our diet, anything else?

 _Ringo:_ mozzarella sticks?

 _Eggboy:_ maybe some breadrolls too

 _Macca:_ mozzarella sticks!

 _Ringo:_ i said that already !!!

 _Macca:_ yea I know, I just agreed with you

 _Ringo:_ oh.

 _Ringo:_ okay !!! :)

 _Macca:_ fjdkaf you’re adorable

 _Ringo:_ no I’m intimidating

 _Ringo:_ remember ?? you used to be scared of me !!!

 _Eggboy:_ GOERGE DID YOU TELL HIM THAT

 _Goerge:_ y e s I am goerge

 _Goerge:_ and I did

 _Goerge:_ it just came up idk

 _Ringo:_ it’s cool

 _Ringo:_ you realised I’m chill :)

 _Macca:_ as intimidating as a duckling

 _Eggboy:_ UwU

 _Ringo:_ :3

 _Ringo:_ uwu

 _Eggboy:_ uwu

 _Ringo:_ uwu

 _Eggboy:_ uwu

 _Macca:_ uwu!!

 _Goerge:_ …

 _Goerge:_ uwu

 _Goerge:_ pizzas are here in 30 min

****

**_21:18_ **

A squeak of the door.

“GREAT!” Paul yelled, and John whooped from somewhere in the hallway. “I’M STARVING.”

The front door slammed shut. George jumped, and spilled his water all over Ringo again. He groaned and pulled at his t-shirt, pouting at George.

The culprit had the nerve to grin sheepishly. “Sorry,” he offered. “At least it’s clean this time?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song Ringo and George sing/text/text-sing is “It’s Late” by Queen which is an AMAZING song btw, I always screech along when the chorus comes up.  
> Anyway, sincerely hope you enjoyed it!! thank you for reading!!  
> xx


	16. puppet.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> john is still pining. paul is oblivious(or is he???). rip to their socks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. This is meant to be a filler chapter! Not necessarily crack, just cute mclennon to get you(me) through the day as they make up from their fight. Originally intended this to be a little shorter (as it is a mere filler), but what do you do, huh?  
> But hey!! next chapter is more crack-y, so whoop!  
> And as I continue to torture John, I must say that I am very proud that you've surpassed the amount of kudos with your comments. Of course, half of those are mine(BECAUSE YOUR COMMENTS MAKE ME SO HAPPY) but it's unbelievable, honestly, how popular this fic is?? people consistently love it and feel the need to comment their thoughts, which is AMAZING. I am SO thankful. Holy shit.  
> Anyway, enjoy!!  
> xx  
> PS: warning, unedited(but did you expect any less?)

_**18:49** _

Paul disappeared over the threshold. 

John cursed and, as if he’d been programmed to do so, went after Paul in a fit of anger, panic, and that painful clenching of is heart he recognised as sadness. He didn’t even give a stupified George and Ringo a second thought, the lasagne on Ringo’s shoulder and he shattered china behind George already forgotten. It was silly really, how much his thoughts focused on Paul;  _ God,  _ he’d turned into Paul’s little puppet, hadn’t he? And oddly enough, Paul didn’t even seem to realise he could pull at the strings. 

Tug o’ war was it then, but without the  _ war.  _ He went along willingly, loyally following wherever Paul went. Once upon a time it’d been the other way ‘round, years back when they’d first met. He’d almost been an  _ entity  _ in Paul’s young eyes those first few weeks, the boy following him like a puppy, and he’d relished in the feeling; when Paul realised what a sack of dicks John really was though, that’d gone. No longer the coolest kid Paul had ever met, but just an annoying, angry teenager with abandonment issues, poems, and a shitty guitar. 

John raced after him. He almost tripped on the stairs in his hurry, not even realising he’d forgotten his keys in his haste to follow his best friend.  _ God,  _ the kid could run; Paul had the longest legs and was thus the quickest, and apparently John’s insistence on him cutting off smoking completely as he healed had paid off as Paul ran without making any hints of stopping any time soon. John, however, had been rather hypocritical and not followed his own advice, having shared a cigarette  _ (or five)  _ with both George and Ringo, and his lungs already felt like they were on fire. 

He managed to pay the burn in his lungs no mind though, too worried and  _ desperate  _ to get him. And so he ran quicker, muscles starting to complain, lungs screaming, and heart racing because of a mix of anxiety and being in terrible shape. He didn’t even have the time to nag on himself for slacking off at the gym, too focused on getting to Paul. 

He chased him down until they entered a park. It wasn’t that late, though it  _ was  _ around supper-time, so there were still some pedestrians strolling around and taking their dog for a walk. John frantically looked around, venturing deeper and deeper into the park, before he spotted his best friend.

Paul was sitting on a bench. He’d pulled on leg up and rested his chin on his knee, staring off into the distance. The place itself was rather beautiful; the bench looked out over an artificial pond, surrounded by weeping willows and blooming cherry trees. The spring evening was rather soft and the breeze only incited a slight chill, though that may also be because of the heavy sprinting John’d just thrust upon himself, and he dropped himself carefully next to Paul. He didn’t say anything, just continued to stare at everything  _ except John _ with his mouth in a thin line. The wind ruffled his hair and John resisted the urge to smooth Paul’s fringe down.

They sat in silence for quite some time. Some passing pedestrians looked at them oddly, and when John stretched his legs out in front of him he noticed why; he wasn’t wearing any shoes, just the neon, rainbow-coloured socks Mimi had knitted for him a while back. Paul, too, wasn’t wearing any shoes, and his socks stood out equally as much. Fluffy and bright blue, with bees on them. He’d probably nicked them from Geo. The guy liked obscene socks. 

Another breeze. John shivered now, having begun to cool down significantly, and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. 

“I’m sorry,” then came a small voice. John glanced to the side, noticing that Paul was still staring off into nothing. At least he’d spoken. 

John didn’t answer. 

“Don’t know what came over me,” Paul explained. A tiny grimace was pulling at his mouth, and he wrinkled his nose. “I jus’ got so incredibly angry out of nowhere, and I just-” he paused, inhaling sharply. “I’m  _ sorry _ , John.”

“I’m sorry too,” he muttered, and he wiggled his toes. “I’s a bit overbearing.”

“You were just  _ worried  _ about me,” Paul retaliated. “And I just was rude about it.”

“No you weren’t.” Paul shot him a look, and John bit his lip. “Okay,  _ maybe a little.  _ But it’s  _ normal.  _ Concussions can cause odd mood swings, and I suppose I ‘aven’t allowed you to do a lot of the stuff you usually do. You’ve always been bad with having to hand over control, Paulie.”

Paul snorted. “No I’m not.”

“ _ ‘I can’t do shit in this fucking house’, _ ” John mimicked. “ _ ‘Let me live, Lennon’. _ ”

“Okay, first of all, I do  _ not  _ sound like that,” a hint of a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, John noticed, and Paul glanced at him briefly. “And second of all, that’s just  _ one  _ thing.”

“I did sort of notice that you’d become more snappy every time we were like  _ ‘I’ll do it’,  _ y’know,” John mused. “Just admit it. You don’t like not being the boss at home.”

Paul scowled. “Shut up,” he muttered, pursing his lips at John’s hoarse chuckling. “It’s jus’ - I don’t want to be  _ useless,  _ y’know? And now I feel like I am. Because- because-”

“Because we’re not allowing you to do anything.”

“Exactly,” he picked at his thumbnail, a nervous habit he’d had since John met him. “Makes me feel shitty, I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” John says, “again. For that. I didn’t mean for you to be uncomfortable.”

_ “I know,” _ Paul groaned, and he swatted John’s bicep. “You just wanted me to be comfortable.  _ I know.” _

John bit down his lip. “Exactly.”

They were silent again. John watched as a mother duck guided her ducklings across the well-kept lawn to the pond. He counted eleven, and wondered if it wasn’t a bit late for them to still be out. In the distance some children screeched in glee.

Then:

“I still can’t believe you threw your plate of lasagne at Geo and Ritchie.”

_ “That was an accident!” _ Paul stressed, sounding rather upset. “I didn’t  _ mean _ to throw it at them, I swear!”

_ “I know, I know,”  _ John muttered, trying his hardest not to smile. He gently threw his arm over Pauls shoulders and tugged him closer, and was  _ very _ pleased to note that the boy just about melted into his half-embrace. “Ringo was absolutely  _ covered  _ in sauce. It actually looked kind of funny.”

_ “I feel guilty, John.” _

“You should,” John agreed. “Ringo didn’t do anythin’ wrong.”

Paul leaned against him a bit more heavily. “He didn’t.”

“Geo is debatable, as always.”

A very tiny chuckle. “As always.”

“You  _ did _ almost bash his ‘ead in with the plate, though.”

“Oh,  _ God,” _ from the corner of his eye he saw Paul press his hand to his mouth. “That’s bad. I’m a terrible human being.”

“Well it didn’t  _ hit ‘im,  _ now, did it?” he tapped his fingers against Paul’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s forgiven ye already.”

Paul let out a huff. “I wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, but you’re  _ you  _ and Geo’s Geo.” John paused, mulling over that. “Though,” he continued, willing his grin away again, “he’s bloody amazin’ at holding a grudge.”

_ “Exactly!”  _ Paul lifted his head to scowl at John. “He’s gonna bloody kill me!”

This time John  _ did  _ laugh. “No he won’t,” he giggled, “I’m sure he’s forgiven you already, love.”

Paul muttered something under his breath, nestling back into the crook of John’s arm. There they sat, just the two of them, casually without shoes and in their  _ “leisurewear”  _ as Ritchie loved to call it. An elderly couple with a small spaniel walked past: the lady smiled at them gently, pausing her step and tugging harshly at the man’s arm.

“Danny and I just wanted to say,” she said, cheeks rosy, “that we think you two make such an  _ adorable  _ couple.”

John  _ swore  _ his heart stopped beating at that as he stared at them, eyes wide. His cheeks were suddenly on fire and he coughed, glancing down at Paul. The woman didn’t seem to notice his discomfort or couldn’t care less, tugging harshly on Danny’s arm. “Don’t we, Danny?” she asked, before smiling affectionately at the two of them again. “Truly adorable, huh?”

“Wha-?  _ Oh,  _ yes. Yes.” Danny blinked and shot them a sheepish grin. “Downright adorable, yes.”

John was still frozen, unable to so much utter a word. He blinked owlishly, his contacts drying in the breeze and stinging his eyes, but he didn’t even notice. Paul,  _ ever the smooth fucker,  _ managed to unthaw himself from his frozen state though, and grinned back.

“Thank you,” he said kindly, managing to make his accent a bit more posh than usual. “We usually are not this affectionate in public, but he’s got some making up to do, don’t you, Johnny?” and he patted John’s thigh. 

John was not capable of much at that moment, brain almost short-circuiting at just the mere  _ feeling  _ of Paul’s hand on his leg. His body heat  _ burned  _ through the fabric of his joggers and after Paul had lifted his hand and placed it back in his own lap, he still felt the imprint of Paul’s hand on his skin. 

“Yes,” he managed to squeak out, “I do, love.”

Paul grinned cheekily. “I was injured, you see, and he’s been rather annoyingly worried,” he explained. The woman produced an  _ ‘oh!’ _ and the man hummed. “He gets like that sometimes, right John? But he’s very sweet, no worries.”

_ “Oh,  _ I must hope so!” the woman exclaimed, and Paul nodded vigorously next to him, before stretching and pressing his lips  _ to John’s cheek.  _

_ ‘OH.’  _ John thought.  _ ‘OH. OH MY GOD.’ _

It was downright  _ ridiculous  _ to feel this way, because Paul had kissed his cheek before, but this was a different context. In the eyes of the public - and at least the elderly couple in front of them - they were  _ in a relationship.  _

He managed to stretch his mouth into a smile. “Paul is very sweet too,” he heard himself say, “but sometimes he gets a little ahead of himself, y’know? Especially since he’s injured. Can’t carry three full bags of groceries up the stairs after you’ve  _ just  _ spent the night in a hospital, right?”

“Well I  _ thought  _ I could do it.”

_ “You could barely hold your balance at Tesco.” _

“Oh,  _ shush.” _

The elderly couple continued to smile at them fondly as they bickered, before Danny cleared his throat. “Well,” he said with a nod, “we better get going. It’s Liverpool against Manchester tonight.”

_ “Oh,  _ you and your football,” the woman said amusedly, right at the same time John blurted  _ ‘Liddypool for the win!’.  _

There was a whole two seconds of silence before the man laughed. “Damn right lad!” he just about yelled, “Man United can  _ suck it!” _

“Whoo!” Paul said enthusiastically, laughing when the woman dragged her husband off with an eyeroll and one last smile at them. 

“Put some shoes on, loves!” was the last thing she said to them as they walked away, “you better not catch a cold!”

“Well,” John muttered as soon as the couple had disappeared, “I had not expected to do that with my night.”

“She’s right, y’know,” Paul said with a smile. “We oughta put some shoes on.”

John sighed, already retreating his arm. He was actually kind of comfortable like this, with Paul tucked against him, on a bench in the middle of the park. “Well, we’ll have to get back then,” he said, trying his hardest not to let his disappointment shine through.  _ ‘It’d be a bit embarrassing,’ _ he figured,  _ ‘if it gets out that I’d rather cuddle with my best mate than go home to my other best mates.’  _ The ground was cold against his socks already.

“No, wait!” Paul grasped his shirt, pulling him closer. “I’m fine like this for a little while longer. Let’s just sit. Please?” he grinned sheepishly, though his eyes darted from John to the ground anxiously.  _ “Please,” _ he repeated, “let’s just sit for a little while longer.”

John felt himself relax and he slumped back against the bench, pulling Paul close to him again. “Alright,” he said softly. It somehow made him awfully happy, sitting like that. “Let’s just stay a little while longer.”

It was almost dark by the time they got back, pizza and mozzarella sticks on their minds, greeted by a cackling George and a soaked Ringo. They both went to change their socks in their shared bedroom, the poor things having become muddied and grassy by walking without shoes. Just as he was rummaging through his dresser, Paul spoke up.

“We oughta do it more often, y’know,” he muttered. John turned around, pair of new socks -  _ again,  _ knitted by Mimi. Things were damn comfortable - balled up in his hand. Paul was sitting on his bed, pulling some grey socks on his feet. 

“Do what?” John asked dumbly. He fiddled with the knitted fabric. “Have me chase you dramatically in socks? Fight ‘n throw lasagne at each other?”

Paul snorted. “I hate you,” he stated with a smile, before shaking his head. “But no. I meant something else.”

John shook his head confusedly. “Talk to elderly couples? What are you talkin’ about mate?”

“No,” Paul finished putting on his socks, standing up and walking in the direction of the door. “Cuddle,” he said with a grin, and he disappeared down the hallway. 

John dropped his socks. 


	17. john is a bottom george said so

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goerge: Ringo just asked me when you two are gonna get it on  
> Goerge: i think he wants to give me his thirty pounds  
> Goerge: just go for it
> 
> ***
> 
> john is APPARENTLY terrible at flirting??? sounds fake but ok. paul continues to be oblivious(or is he?? ((; ). geo and ritchie are still supportive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW DOUBLE UPDATE, can you belieevee?? I sure as fuck can't.

**_00:17_ **

It was a regular Saturday night, a week or two after the lasagne-incident. Their socks had been saved, Ringo no longer had sauce in his ear, John’s heart had recovered, Paul cooked regularly again, and George still  _ severely  _ enjoyed putting an ungodly amount of spice in his food. All was well again. 

John casually strolled closer to the front of the pub, hands stuffed deep in his pockets, unlit ciggie between his lips; Ringo was next to him, busy lighting his  _ own  _ cigarette before handing the zippo over to John. Paul and George danced around them like children, giggly and excited, sometimes grasping each other by the hand and doing pirouettes in pure glee. John, with an unpleasant feeling low in his belly that he unmistakably identified as  _ jealousy,  _ wondered if they’d taken something together that made them act that way, but that was impossible: it was their first time going out with the four of ‘em again after Paul’s  _ accident,  _ and he still vehemently refused alcohol or drugs so there was no way he was high(except maybe on the two paracetamol he’d taken just before they left, but John sincerely doubted that). Geo  _ could  _ be high, but the chances were low as he didn’t like doing stuff alone. Either way, they were all excited to be out and about again. Even Ringo had a spring in his step and laughed wholeheartedly with John after George jumped, stumbled through his landing, and curtsied messily. 

The plan to go out had been made ages back, just after they’d gotten back from the hospital with Paul, though they’d never set an actual date. Concussions were not ideal for your average busy nineteen-year-old and his own concussion caused Paul forgetfulness, sleepless nights, and mood swings. All in all, he was constantly annoyed with everything which made making plans  _ quite hard _ \- especially since Paul could suddenly not feel up to something in the blink of an eye. 

But it’d been a full month of recovery, and Paul felt like he could handle one night of fun - as long as he wasn’t drinking. When George had arrived at the apartment at eight in the evening the night before because of a late lecture and complained about, well,  _ everything,  _ it had apparently been the push he needed.

Poor Geo had looked ragged, exhausted, and had collapsed on top of a  _ very  _ irked John after the singer refused to retreat his feet and not take up the entire sofa. Geo had nagged about his uniwork for over ten minutes when Paul had slammed his hands down on the coffee table. Ringo had choked on his beer, John had accidentally hit George in the face with his  _ The Hobbit _ hardback, and George had merely yelped.

_ “We’re going out!” _ Paul had announced loudly, looking awfully satisfied.  _ “Tomorrow evening, we’re gonna go out.” _

Honestly, John would've been fine with lazing about  _ indoors,  _ drinking shitty booze and citing equally as shitty poetry to each other in their drunken haze with him  _ preferably  _ leaning against Paul, the latter running his fingers through his hair - 

_ Okay.  _ Stop. Calm down. Breathe. 

Either way, John would've been fine with staying in and relaxing at home, instead of needing to go to some seedy pub in the outskirts of town. But this was fine as well: it wasn’t like John disliked pubs, he actually rather liked them. Whether he felt genuine enjoyment staying in a crowded, hot pub for a couple of hours, surrounded by the sharp smell of sambuca, ciggies, old sweat and stale beer, or whether it was some sort of leftover teenage rebellion(Mimi  _ hated  _ those kind of pubs with a burning passion, all the more reason for John to sneak out and get hammered in one of them), John was  _ fine  _ with them havin' fun in a pub. 

But,  _ y'know _ . They could've stayed indoors. 

Getting in was no different from how it usually went. The bouncer let John and Ringo in no problem, but squinted dramatically at Paul and Geo's identity cards as if he enjoyed making the two youngest sweat a little. Paul got in with his usual bright smile and flirty attitude, and Geo merely stared the bouncer down with a look of indifference John  _ envied  _ before being allowed in. 

They shrugged off their jackets as soon as the warm, stuffy air hit them in the face. The band in the corner was playing a cover that John vaguely recognised as a My Chemical Romance song, but their sound system was uncomfortably loud - though that's probably because of the lack of alcohol in his system. Ringo and Paul reached for the jackets to get them hung up in the cloakroom, and Geo immediately wrapped his long fingers around John's wrist, tugging him to the bar. 

"So?" he asked, voice raised to be understandable, "are you gonna do somethin' tonight?" 

John's heart skipped a beat. "Wha' d'ya mean?"

George snorted and rolled his dark eyes, pushing through the crowd closer to the bar. "Ya know  _ exactly  _ what I mean, mate." 

"I really don't." 

"Fine!" Geo exclaimed a bit too loudly, ignoring the confused glances of the other party goers. "I wanna know if yer gonna make a move on our Paulie, like."

"Ah," John sincerely hoped the weird lighting of the pub hid the blush spreading over his cheeks, "tha'." 

"Of course it's that! Wha' else would it be?" they'd reached the bar and George rolled his eyes again, leaning his elbows on the bartop. A bartender was quick to try and aid them, but Geo didn't seem to notice. "I've seen ye bein' a perfect lil' boyfriend around our lad for over a month now, listening to and obeying his every demand and being at his beck and call twentyfour-seven." The bartender, looking a little constipated, shot a pleading glance at John after tapping Geo's hand hadn't worked. John merely inclined his head towards the bar with a smile and Geo swivelled around, grinning sheepishly. "Oh- eh, three pints 'n one cola, please, mate!" he rummaged through his pocket and took out his phone, sliding his debit card from the case. "I mean, ye even cried after he yelled at ye for treatin' him like he's made of glass. You would've told 'im to get fucked 'n suck it up three months earlier." 

"That's just because I feel guilty," John answered lowly, eyes on the frilly boots of the bird next to them. "I don't- I think it was my fault, y'know? His fall." 

"It wasn't," George replied sourly, and he placed his debit card on the portable machine the bartender reached out to him to pay. He pulled the card back after a couple of seconds and stuffed the it back in his phone case. "I thought so too, for a while, that it was my fault, but Paul was the one to run on wet tiles. We're just partially responsible. It's not our fault he didn't properly dry off before going downstairs to scold us into oblivion. Anyroad," Geo shot him one of his crooked grins, "you've never been this incredibly apologetic before." 

John wrinkled his nose. "What does tha' even  _ mean?"  _

"John, I've known you for four years and Paul was our mutual friend." Geo grabbed two beers and mentioned for John to pick up the remaining drinks. "One time Paul got beat up so badly while trying to defend your honour he fell unconscious. His entire face was black and blue and he chipped his tooth. You bought him a pack of ciggies as thanks, and not even the brand he usually smokes." 

"But that was on him," John said, a little hot under the collar. "He stepped in himself." 

"And the exact same thing happened last month," Geo reasoned, spotting Ritchie and Paul in the crowd and grinning widely at them. "Just promise me you'll flirt with 'im a little. I know for certain he'll like tha'." 

_ "Fine,"  _ John huffed, though his heart was suddenly beating at one hundred miles a minute. The mere  _ idea  _ of flirting with Paul made him anxious, but somehow in a good way. "I'll do it, Geo. Get off my dick." 

"I was never on it," the youngest Beatle quipped. He shot John a mischievous grin, then. "Though I'd reckon you're not a top, mate." 

John paused just as Geo kept on walking and handed a beer to Ritchie.  _ "What does that even  _ mean!?"

 

**_01:18_ **

John was starting to grow a bit panicked. He'd been trying to flirt with Paul using his best tactics, those he'd perfected during secondary school. He'd smile coyly, play dumb; he'd brush his fingers across the back of Paul's hands or neck, adjust the t-shirt he was wearing and use it as an excuse to brush his fingers across Paul's collarbone; when someone needed to pass them, he'd tug Paul closer by slipping his fingers through the belt loops of the younger boy's jeans and pulling harshly. He'd lean in close to talk to him, using the dead-loud music blaring from the speakers as an excuse, and would brush his mouth over the shell of Paul's ear every single time. 

Paul was fuckin' unfazed. 

He continued to act like he always did, laughing at his jokes or rolling his eyes at the unfunny ones. He slapped John's shoulder, pushed him back after pulling him closer, got him booze even though he wasn't drinking himself.

Paul jumped around him, yelling along to the Green Day song the band was covering and winking at every pretty lady crossing his path. The dark hair at the nape of his neck was curling, soaked with sweat; John swallowed at the sight, fingers aching to twirl it around his pointer finger. 

The beer in his hand had started to become a little warm, heated by his palm, and though there wasn’t a lot left he decided against downing it in one go. Warm beer was quite disgusting and he  _ despised _ it that way, uncle George’s picky, middle-class tastes having been ingrained in him since he was young, and he didn’t want to risk being sick. Paul then, though, twirled around rather viciously and accidentally bumped his hand against the beer, leaving it flying over the dancefloor. It hit a tall bird in the hip, amber liquid splattering across her black jeans. The plastic cup bounced two times after it hit the ground. 

Both Paul and him had been staring in amazement when the cup had been catapulted through the air, but snapped back into consciousness at the loud and annoyed  _ “what the FUCK” _ from the girl. They locked gazes and turned their backs a little, hoping that they were looking as inconspicuous as possible, and breathed out a sigh in relief when no one approached them. 

“Nice one,” John commented loudly in Paul’s ear, and Paul - still a bit shaken, apparently - nodded with wide eyes. The flashing lights of the pub were being reflected in his hazel irises, cheeks slightly rosy because of the physical exertion and nerves, and a strand fell from his carefully combed hairdo in front of his eyes. As if entranced, John lifted his hand to stroke it away, when Paul suddenly rolled his eyes, shrugged, and started to dance again.

John continued to stare. Paul was so  _ incredibly  _ beautiful that it blew his breath away, leaving him gasping on the dancefloor. He was absolutely certain he looked like a lovestruck fool, jaw ever-so-slightly slack and eyes wide. He could already  _ hear _ Geo’s smug cackling,  _ see _ Ritchie’s amused smile; John Lennon, the Great and Powerful, being absolutely fuckin’  _ whipped,  _ softened like butter at room temperature, pliable like putty in Paul’s pretty hands. 

Then Paul turned around and looked him right in the face, and he  _ smiled.  _ He smiled so brightly and beautifully that John felt his heart fuckin’  _ stutter.  _ But he managed to grin back crookedly, cheeks aflame, and suppressed a shiver when Paul leaned in closer to his ear to ask if he wanted another pint. 

_ God,  _ he was so fucked. 

 

**_private chat_ **

_ "Goerge" is online _

_ "Eggboy" is offline _

 

**_01:30_ **

_ Goerge:  _ I see flirting happening from across the pub

_ Goerge:  _ you planning to get some action tonight or nah? 

_ Goerge:  _ Joooohhhhnnnn cmon answer me 

_ Goerge:  _ pff fine. 

_ Goerge:  _ then I won't talk to ye

_ Goerge:  _ Ringo’s back from the loo anyway

 

**_01:36_ **

_ Goerge:  _ Ringo just asked me when you two are gonna get it on

_ Goerge:  _ i think he wants to give me his thirty pounds

_ Goerge:  _ just go for it

 

**_01:47_ **

_ Goerge:  _ joHN WINSTONNLENNON DID I JUDT SEE THAT CORREVTLY WITH MY OWN TWO EYES

_ Goerge:  _ DID MACCA JUST PRESS HIS ARSE AGAINST YER CROTCH

_ Goerge:  _ OH MY GOD

_ Goerge:  _ KISS HIM KISS HIM KISS HIM KISS HIM

_ Goerge:  _ JUST DO IT SAFELY I'M NOT READY TO BE AN UNCLE YET 

 

**_01:53_ **

_ Goerge:  _ what the fuck

_ Goerge:  _ well that was a fuckin downer

_ Goerge:  _ why must Paul be such a casanova

_ Goerge:  _ crhist are you ok?? 

_ Goerge:  _ I can literally see your mood plummeting all the way over here 

_ Goerge:  _ John???

 

_ "Eggboy" is online _

 

_ Goerge:  _ you wanna come over here mate? 

_ Eggboy:  _ hey

_ Eggboy:  _ moods shite

_ Eggboy:  _ gonna do a couple of shots, then heading ur way

_ Goerge:  _ are you sure you wanna do shots? 

_ Eggboy:  _ i do what i bloody well like geo fuck off

_ Goerge:  _ alright alright no need to get yer knickers in a twist

_ Goerge:  _ just get over here when you're ready

_ Goerge:  _ you want me to send ritchie away to macca so you can like

_ Goerge: _ idk

_ Goerge:  _ complain to me without feelin too awkward?

_ Eggboy:  _ yea

_ Goerge:  _ toit 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! Next chapter will be up sometime next week? Maybe earlier. I'm going to belgium for the weekend to visit family so idk if I'm gonna be able to upload, but we'll see. I have a phone.   
> Alright, I have to catch the bus in half an hour and I still am not dressed nor have I had lunch, so I'm typing this real quick. I'm sorry for the typos throughout the chapter! yet again unedited.   
> I really hope you enjoyed this!!  
> xxx  
> miffy


	18. earth should stop spinning.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> john is SAD, and george is a good friend. paul is STILL oblivious and thus kind of a dick. ringo is just a supportive friend in general and doesn't like taking sides.  
> george kinda does. 
> 
> Or, the author continues to torture john because she's an arse.  
> ***
> 
> “Reckoned you knew how to drink without feeling the need to sick up the place by now, Johnny,” George mentioned offhandedly then, “guess I was wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING.  
> This chapter DOES contain throwing up. It's a very short part of the chapter, and it's not graphic at all, but it mentions sounds and "splatter", so if you cannot stand things like that, I suggest you skip over that part. I've marked it with "***". It is skippable, so no worries about missing any vital part of the fic.  
> Stay safe!!

**_02:13_ **

John looked fuckin' _miserable._

They were seated rather close to the bar, a booth in a more comfortable, secluded area where _anything_ could happen and nobody would pay them any mind. Honestly, George probably could climb on top of the fuckin’ table and take his clothes off and nobody would give a shit, which is exactly why he'd chosen the spot.

Several empty shotglasses littered the wood in front of them. John had tucked himself in the corner, sad pout on his lips, downing vodka as if it was water; George had managed to keep him from ordering new shots, though he was sceptical whether the bartender allowed his friend to order again. They'd probably fill the glasses with water or cut him off completely. Regardless, John was wasted, pissy, and sad, and George felt like he needed to look after his friend. Fuck him being the youngest; when need be, he'd be a parent, and a damn good one at that.

The pint in front of him had gone virtually untouched, having been too preoccupied with making sure Johnny-boy didn't drink himself into the hospital, and he was quite certain that it'd gone flat. It was basically undrinkable by now, and though he'd taught himself that alcohol was alcohol, he couldn't bring himself to lift the glass to his lips.

Instead of hyper fixating on his flat beer, George directed his attention to his best friend. He almost seemed asleep, eyes closed and head resting against the back of his seat, but every once in a while he blinked and stared at nothing in particular through squinted eyes. George bit his lip harshly.

"You want some water?" he shouted in John's ear, concern swirling through his veins. John shrugged - a lazy, drunken raising of his shoulders, far from nonchalant and ages from smoothly - and George took that as a yes, shimmying his way out of the booth and swiftly walking in the direction of the bar.

In hindsight, it might’ve been stupid to leave, erm, beer and John unattended, but he deemed water a very necessary thing at the moment. He lifted his hand to signal the girl tending their side of the bar, ordering water with a smile and a wink. She grinned at him cheekily and nodded.

Tapping his fingers on the bar top as he waited, he looked around, spotting Paul and Ringo twirling around each other somewhere in the crowd. They were close to the stage, laughing as they danced, and George almost, _almost_ felt annoyed.

It was _shite_ how Paul appeared so incredibly oblivious. It was _shite_ how he could still be happy-go-lucky while John - his best friend, lovely guy, sometimes a bit of an arse - was sulking in a sticky corner booth, probably wishing he could drink himself into oblivion because he was too scared to tell Paul about his fuckin’ feelings and Paul apparently was too much of a _dick_ to, y’know, put the poor guy out of his misery. Because Paul _did know, right?_ He _must_ have noticed something at the very _fuckin’_ least, must’ve _caught_ John staring at him in utter amazement and adoration. And _alright,_ George loved himself some good-ass pining, but this was just getting _painful_ and he felt so, _so_ bad for John.

The water was planted in front of him, and he was shaken out of his thoughts. It apparently was free, as the bartender declined his card with a wave of her hand and a wink, and after thanking her with a smile he turned to head back to John.

Who, apparently, had been quenching his thirst with something else.

George stared in both horror and amazement as his best friend gulped down _his, not John’s,_ flat, warm beer within seconds before he snapped out of it and almost _ran_ towards the booth with a curse.

 _“Are you fuckin kidding me?”_ he groaned, slamming the glass down on the table and grasping John’s face in his hands. One slow blink told him enough and he hissed through his teeth, yanking John out of the booth and grabbing the glass of water as well. John stumbled, falling against him; George ignored the slurred _‘sorry’_ and started to make his way through the crowd, violently elbowing anyone in the way. He nodded at the bouncer when he reached the door, pulling a face at the man's raised eyebrow, before pulling John over the threshold.

The fresh, midnight-chill air of a mid-April night was like a healthy slap to the face, and George inhaled sharply. He was happy to hear John do the same and lead him to a free bench.

_Christ._

John just about collapsed on the wood, producing a long-suffering sigh. George tentatively took a seat next to him and held the glass of water carefully between his fingers, glancing at his friend.

“Here,” he said gently, “might make you feel a bit better.”

John messily made a grab for the glass, almost dropping it before taking a sip. He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. “Thanks,” he muttered, barely understandable.

“No problem,” George replied automatically. He fumbled through his pockets for his cigarettes, stomach churning, and placed one between his teeth. He lit it in less than a second, blew the smoke away from John and bounced his leg nervously.

“So,” George said dryly, looking at John from his peripheral vision, “care to tell me what exactly prompted this?

John stayed silent. His eyes were closed and he was leaning on one palm, his other hand still clutching the glass of water. It actually kind of looked like he was sleeping, if his breathing hadn’t been consistent, loud, and shaky. George knew that John probably had to spew his guts out sometime soon to have a chance at feeling somewhat human in a couple of hours, but he was a bit reluctant. George _really_ didn’t feel like dealing with a nauseous and vomiting John, because nauseous and vomiting John always got emotional, clingy, and extra mean. Even if he’d developed the skin to deal with John’s biting remarks over the years of knowing him, having the young man slur sharp insults in his ear and be glued to his side had never been George’s cup of tea. Sure, George loved good hugs - craved them, even - but not when the other person was smelling like a night-out-gone-wrong, murmuring abuse under his breath.

He pursed his lips. “Fresh air helpin’, then?” he then asked casually, taking another drag from his cigarette. He glanced at his mate briefly, tempted to reach out and give him some comfort. “You got a bit sick there, didn't ye?”

John hummed as a reply - though it sounded more like a very pathetic moan - and George chuckled in relief. _‘At least he’s not brain dead,’_ he thought, deciding to reach out now, carefully placing his hand between John’s shoulder blades. He dug his fingers into the tense muscles and started to gently massage them. “Reckoned you knew how to drink _without_ feeling the need to sick up the place by now, Johnny,” George mentioned offhandedly then, “guess I was wrong.”

To his relief, John actually replied _verbally_ this time, with actual words. “No,” he piped up in a small voice, “I know how. I’s jus’- felt like gettin’ fucked up.”

“Hm.”

“‘M serious,” John slurred, lifting his head to glare at George, “I- I know how to drink, Haz- Harso- _Harrison.”_

George shot him a smile. “I know you do, mate.”

“Good,” John huffed. He sat up a little straighter, slowly, but let out a very sad little moan and settled his head on Geo's shoulder. He tipped the glass a little, and some of the water sloshed out and spilt over George’s pant leg; he quietly pushed the glass upright. “Hey, Geo?”

“Hm?”

“Tell the world to stop fuckin' _spinnin’.”_

George flicked the ash off his fag. “Stop spinnin’, world.”

They were silent for a couple of seconds.

“Didn’t work,” John then muttered, and George snickered. He lifted his hand from the space between John’s shoulder blades and to John’s hair, dragging his fingers through the auburn locks.

"How rude,” he lamented, pushing himself to put on a posh accent. He raised his voice a little and tilting his head back, directing his words at the heavens. “I’m your best customer! This kind of treatment will make you lose me, I _demand_ to speak to the manager!”

The chuckle from John sounded rather weak, and a hand came up to wipe at his face messily. “Then you’d have to die, like.”

“A sacrifice I’m willing to make,” George stated, and he flipped his hair. “I will probably be resurrected anyway. I’m too important for the world to die permanently, y’know.”

“You’re not Jas- Jeso- _Jesus.”_ John slurred with a snicker. He reached out to tap an unknown rhythm George’s knee, and George felt a flood of affection for his friend.

“Maybe if I grow out my hair and get a beard people will mistake me for ‘im,” he mused, grinning at John’s soft, drunken laughter. “Hopefully I won’t get killed by Romans, though.”

“I hope not, too,” John muttered, “I’d miss you too much and get sad.’ He paused, probably mulling over his next words. Just as George was about to say _‘I love you too,’_ John spoke up again. “I’m sad now, too, though.”

George but his lip. “About-”

“I _tried,_ y’know?” John interrupted with his drunken slur, suddenly sounded incredibly tired, and George’s heart constricted a little. “I flirted. I smiled, touched him at unnecessary moments, paid him compliments. And he jus’ - he didn’t fuckin’ _react.”_

“Hm.”

“And I looked fuckin  _ridiculous,_ didn’t I?” John turned his head slightly, rubbing his cheek against the grey cotton of George’s t-shirt. His shoulder started to feel a little damp.

“You didn’t,” George replied softly, cursing Paul mentally. “It looked natural, John. I honestly thought Paul was reacting positively to your flirting.”

_“Well ‘e fuckin’ clearly didn’t.”_

“Maybe he got spooked,” he suggested, hoping sincerely that it was indeed just _that._ Paul got spooked easily, always. He’d been insecure about what others thought of him as long as George had known him. He’d be extraverted and outgoing one moment, and sheltered and introverted the next. Since the very first conversation George and Paul had had, that small, childish conversation in his backyard about guitars and older music, George had noticed that every time Paul thought he’d replied too happily, he’d retreat back in his shell. Maybe that was it: _‘Dear God, if You’re there,’_ George thought, _‘let it be that.’_

“Spooked,” John snorted, “he jus’- he was like, what the _fuck_ does that poof want-”

“You know Paul is bi as well, John,” George sighed.

“Didn’t _fuckin’_ matter now, did it?” the older boy’s head snapped up from George’s shoulder, mouth pulled into a sneer, dark eyes narrowed and cold. “I tried bloody _everything,_ Geo, and he jus’- he jus’ goes and-” his face crumpled up, sneer now twisted into a sad scowl. “‘s not fucking _enough,_ is it? _I’m cute too, right?_ He bloody said that, _right?_ He fuckin’ said that and that means I’m cute but why am I not _enough then-”_

George probably saw it happening before John even realised it. He dropped his cigarette and sprung to his feet, yanking John along, ushering him to the side of the building. He didn’t even register the glass of water falling to the ground and shattering, too focused on getting them in a more secluded spot.

**_***_ **

Thankfully, he was just in time: the disgusting sick-up did _not_ decorate their shoes, now, but a plant instead. He cringed when John sank through his knees, bracing himself against the pot rim of the poor, _poor_ buxus shakily as he vomited. The sounds were downright disgusting and George did his best not to start retching himself. He’d never been good with people throwing up, Paul was _way_ better at it - _‘but Paul’s not here now, is he, Harrison?’_

“Alright lad,” he murmured instead, trying to tune out the horrid heaving by playing some elevator music on repeat in his head. He placed his hand back on the space between John’s shoulder blades and rubbed soothingly with his thumb, crouching down next to his friend. “‘s alright. Let it out.”

It took a little while before John’s gagging subsided, now replaced with heavy, strained breathing. He sat down completely now, still rather white-faced, and closed his eyes. George placed the back of his hand against John’s clammy forehead with a grimace.

**_***_ **

“Got a bit too enthusiastic there, huh,” he said gently, smiling when John peeked at him with one eye. “Must say, Lennon, you may be cute, _but not like this.”_

John let out a weak chuckle, but then his bottom lip started trembling, and instead of another chuckle came a small sob.

Geo’s heart sank and he leaned forward a bit more, throwing his arm across John’s shoulder this time and pressing the older boy against him. It kind of smelled bad, but _hey,_ he was a good friend before he was bothered by smells.

“Hey now,” he muttered, feeling only slightly awkward while John fuckin’ _sobbed_ into his shoulder. He was bad with comforting John - or _anyone_ really - and didn’t really know what to do. He’d never comforted John before. If he got very upset, he’d either retreat back into his shell like taking a long shower or going to bed, or he’d go to Paul. _Paul would know what to do_ , but currently, Paul was the reason John was upset and his presence might just upset him more.

“‘s alright, love,” he settled for instead, pressing his mouth against John’s sweaty hair. And so, George did what any good friend would do if they didn’t know what to do.

He dragged John home.

 

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_2 online_

 

**_02:46_ **

_Goerge:_ hey I’m taking our gremlin home!!

 _Goerge:_ bitch is a messy drunk

 _Goerge:_ we haven’t gotten our coats so if you’d like to take those with you when you leave, that’d be great

 _Ringo:_?? oh alright, sure thing luv

 _Ringo:_ christ macca disappeared and now i’m all alone

 _Ringo:_ but is john alright ??

 

**_02:50_ **

_Ringo:_ geo ??

 _Ringo:_ oh well the two of ye are probably fine

 _Ringo:_ gnight !!

 

**_03:04_ **

_Macca:_ hey where are you three??

 _Macca:_ oh wait

 _Macca:_ Geo is John ok???

 _Macca:_ also Ritchie where are you??

 _Ringo:_ i imagine geo’s still dragging johnny home

 _Ringo:_ that’s why he hasn’t answered yet

 _Ringo:_ and ehhmm i’m near the toilets ???

 _Ringo:_ ladies loos

 _Macca:_ Ringo there are four separate ladies loos in this goddamn building

 _Ringo:_ one closest to the bar??

 _Macca:_ TWO BARS

 _Ringo:_ ah

 _Ringo:_ erm

 _Macca:_???

 _Ringo:_ near the coats

 _Macca:_ omw

 

**_03:10_ **

“Took ye long enough,” Ringo commented with a small smile, leaning against the wall casually. “What ‘appened? Did ye get sucked off on yer way here?”

“Very funny,” Paul snapped, wrapping his arms around himself. He felt slightly uncomfortable. “You were still hard to find, y’know,” he added after a moment of silence. “Since yer so short ‘n all tha’.”

 _“Very funny,”_ the oldest Beatle mimicked. He laughed at Paul’s eyeroll, and then dragged his gaze over his form. “You look like yer on edge, mate. D’ye wanna go home too?”

Paul bit his lip and glanced to the side. “I- I don’t know. I’m just a bit worried about John, y’know.”

Ritchie’s smile turned sympathetic and he stepped forward, throwing an arm over Paul’s shoulder and tugging him a bit closer. “No need to feel that way, luv,” he said gently, and he ruffled the hair at the back of Paul’s head. “You’ll know that our Hazza’s got everythin’ under control, huh? They’re fine, just coatless, but Geo had his keys in his back pocket and has still got his phone on ‘im. They’ll survive.”

With a sharp inhale through his nose, Paul shook himself out of it and managed to smile. They were fine, right? Completely and utterly fine. “Alright,” he said, and he threw his own arm over Ritchie’s shoulders. “Let’s have some more fun then, huh?”

 

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_2 online_

 

**_03:37_ **

_Goerge:_ yea we’re fine!! everything’s cool

 _Goerge:_ managed to drag him up the stairs and have him drink some water

 _Goerge:_ he’ll be dead tomorrow but oh well

 _Goerge:_ at least he’s dead at home

 _Goerge:_ anyway I’m gonna go sleep too, see y’all in a few hours

 _Goerge:_ night!! xx

 

**_04:07_ **

_Macca:_ okay good, we’re heading home now

 _Macca:_ sleep tight! xxx

 _Ringo:_ gn geo love u xxxxxxxxxxxxx

 _Macca:_ hey! Why are you never that enthusiastic with me???

 _Ringo:_ because i love geo more

 _Macca:_ …

 _Macca:_ valid.

 _Macca:_ he’s a cutie so it’s fine

 _Ringo:_ damn right!

 

**_09:41_ **

_Goerge:_ aww Ritchie I love you too <3

 _Goerge:_ also I can’t believe I’m the first one up

 _Goerge:_ pff it’s weird, the house is so empty

 _Goerge:_ anyway I’m off to get some bread n eggs, we’re out

 _Goerge:_ so if you miss me I’m at the shops

 

**_10:56_ **

_Ringo:_ wow i didn’t even drink that much and i still feel shitty and have a headache

 _Ringo:_ rude.

 _Macca:_ same, but that’s because I am INJURED

 _Ringo:_ INJURED

 _Macca:_ INJURED

 _Ringo:_ I N J U R E D

 _Macca:_ I N J U U R E D

 _Goerge:_ injured?

 _Macca:_ injured.

 _Ringo:_ maybe i’m injured too

 _Macca:_ how??

 _Ringo:_ idk like telepathic feelings ??

 _Ringo:_ i’m very emotionally intelligent

 _Ringo:_ empathy levels through the fuckin ROOF

 _Macca:_ pffff sounds fake but ok

 _Macca:_ anyway I’m gonna go check up on John

 _Ringo:_ you sure that’s a good idea ?

 _Macca:_ why wouldn’t it be?

 _Goerge:_ I’ll check on him mate

 _Goerge:_ you two go have breakfast first, I’ve got fresh orange juice, scrambled eggs, fresh bread, the lot

 _Goerge:_ I’ve also taken the advil out of the cupboard

 _Macca:_ … I really should check up on him though…

 _Goerge:_ let me do it Paul.

 _Goerge:_ I was the one who dragged him back, hm?

 _Goerge:_ And you have a headache anyway

 _Ringo:_ yea mate !!

 _Ringo:_ let’s have breakfast first :) geo can check if our gremlin is still alive

 _Macca:_ … alright, fine.

 _Goerge:_ k cool.

 _Macca:_ okay…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY OKAY OKAY  
> so I KNOW that this is starting to focus like, a lot on McLennon, and many of you don't seem to mind(neither do I) but it's not a fic that was intended to centre around McLennon? I started this without having any clue about where I wanted to go with this which means that it's oftentimes inconsistent and the plot is ALL over the place(it's not even supposed to HAVE a decent plotline) BUT Y'ALL KNOW THAT.  
> Anyway, I've decided to upload because I can, now, a couple of days before I go on holiday. On the McLennon-part of this fic: I will try to scatter them more consistently throughout the fic, thoroughly mixed with genuine chatfic-crack.  
> In all honesty, though, I do hope you enjoyed this chapter!  
> xxx


	19. useless gay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ringo, who’d decided on a particularly large strawberry, waved the fruit in his face. It felt oddly threatening. “The expression on yer face reveals to me that there’s either an uncomfortably large dildo stuck up yer butt, or you’re just mentally troubled at the moment.”
> 
> ***
> 
> paul-centric(finally). george is PROTECTIVE, ringo is a little shit, john is passed out, and paul finally might realise something VERY IMPORTANT.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no chatting in this, I'm sorry, but this just rolled out because it was NECESSARY and it's almost 4000 words and I should be asleep and holy shit, it's late! Almost half past 3 AM, joyful. I'm back on my self-destructive bullshit as if I'd never stopped it.  
> Either way, here you go, and I hope you enjoy!

**_11:08_ **

Paul slowly descended the stairs. Maybe dancing all night long had _not_ been the greatest decision, as a headache was currently making its presence known very _persistently._ And loudly, might he add: it felt as if some creature was swinging a sledgehammer through his skull. A concussion, extreme physical exertion, and sleep deprivation wasn’t the best combination apparently, even if it’d been more than a month since the accident and he hadn’t been dancing _that_ roughly.

But the sleep deprivation, _God,_ that was real.

He and Ritchie had gotten home around half past four in the morning, and though he’d been absolutely exhausted he was not able to sleep. The door to his and John’s shared room was _locked_ for some reason, and when he’d just decided to bunk with Ringo and Geo he noticed that Geo’s bed was fuckin’ _empty._ As he hadn’t spotted George on the sofa downstairs, that meant that Geo and John were in the same, _locked_ room the entire night, and as soon as that realization hit his entire being was flooded with unmistakable _jealousy._

Which was _absurd,_ because he could-not-should-not get jealous. Geo and John were both his best friends and were also _mutual_ best friends, much like they were all best friends with Ritchie. Being jealous did not make _any_ sense, unless he was feeling something else.

He’d been thinking about it the entire night, until his head started to hurt. And then he thought about it some more, and then he slept and his dreams were filled with _John_ and _George_ and he got so jealous he woke up, and then was so embarrassed he couldn’t fall back asleep again. It was ridiculous, completely and utterly ridiculous. But John’d been acting weird at some point during the night, going from his usual, softer, _happier_ self to closed off and skittish, and had then travelled in the direction of George. And when Paul had bumped into Ringo and asked what the _fuck_ those two were doing, the older man had just raised his brows.

Which, _quite honestly,_ was rather self-explanatory.

Paul dragged a hand down his face with a groan. He didn’t know how to feel at the moment, didn’t know just yet whether his jealousy was justified. Because, just because they had _something_ didn’t mean that the three of them couldn’t be good friends right?

_Was it even about that?_

Just as he reached the hallway someone jumped on his back. Arms and legs wrapped around him and the distinct scent of a very recognisable aftershave, mixed with cigarettes, stale beer, and old sweat, entered his nostrils. He almost lost his balance but managed to carry the boy currently clutching to him for dear life, and barked out a laugh.

 _“Ritchie,”_ he shrieked, and the sound of his own voice sent sharp pains through his head, “could you _not,_ please?”

The sound of Ringo’s laughter was, to his surprise, not bothersome, and Ringo slid down. He kept his arms around Paul’s shoulders though and ruffled the younger boy’s hair.

“‘m sorry,” Ringo offered with a bright grin. He seemed in an awfully good mood, especially for someone who’d complained about a headache mere minutes before. Regardless, Ringo’s cheerful attitude lifted Paul’s spirits somewhat, and he managed to return his friend’s enthusiasm with a smile.

At that exact moment George exited the kitchen. He looked positively exhausted yet handsome as always (of fuckin’ _course,_ the bastard could probably rise from the dead like a zombie and his rotting corpse would still be attractive. _Fucker.)_ and offered the both of them the slightest hint of a smile.

“Mornin’,” he greeted, voice slightly hoarse. “I’m just going to check up on John, ‘n all tha’. Kitchen’s stocked.”

Paul noticed he was armed with some painkillers and a bottle of water, as any proper person would be, and ignored the _very unnecessary_ stab of jealousy through his stomach. He nodded, though he didn’t want to nod.

“Are you sure you wanna do it?” he asked quietly, and his heart sank when an expression of pure annoyance settled on Geo’s narrow face. “I mean- you’ve been up so early and took ‘im home and took care of ‘im the entire night too, so-”

“I can _do it,_ Paul.” His voice was sharp, and he rolled his dark eyes before pushing past him to make his way to the stairs. “You weren’t there before earlier, too, right? Go eat breakfast or somethin’.”

Paul didn’t like the way that was said. “What’s _that_ supposed t’mean?” he asked, voice coming out snappier than intended. He felt both annoyed and guilty at Geo’s hostile attitude and at the fact that he wasn’t there when John felt like shit, and the mix of those feelings caused him to act out. When George waved his hand dismissively as an answer and bounded up the stairs Paul set out to run after him, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Well come on then,” Ringo said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “let’s eat some breakfast, huh?”

Paul nodded with a sigh, though he still sent one longing glance to their upstairs area, and stalked into the kitchen. The smell of bread, egg, and coffee hit him and he paused mid-step, sniffing. _Holy shit,_ George really had outdone himself.

Their kitchen table was donned with a frilly blanket Paul vaguely remembered Louise pressing into George’s arms when he moved in with them; on it, the special egg cups, china, and silverware Paul’s _own_ _mother_ had gifted them for one of those days where they needed to appear like they were _put together_ and _properly functioning adults._ And, like George’d said, he indeed had brought everything: he’d bought croissants, bread rolls, and scones, marmalade, cream cheese, and _regular_ cheese, and also a shitload of fruits. In a small bowl he’d deposited scrambled eggs, still mushy and gleaming and smelling _heavenly,_ and a large jar filled to the brim with fresh orange juice stood tall and proud in the centre of the table. Fresh coffee was brewing on the counter.

Ringo just about _drooled_ and sped to his seat, immediately tearing a croissant open and plonking a _very_ decent amount of scrambled eggs onto the bread. After biting into it he produced a sinful moan and Paul was shaken out of his amazement, slowly sitting down at the table.

Just as he reached out to grab a scone, Paul noticed something next to his plate and almost cried. Like he’d said, George set out two small, green pills next to an empty glass. Any type of worries about George being angry with him seemed to lessen ever so slightly and he plonked the two of them in his mouth, quickly filling up his glass with orange juice and throwing that back.

He grabbed a scone, slathered it in cream cheese and marmalade, and took a slow bite. Even though it was delicious(and he was quite certain George hadn’t poisoned anything) he was still worried. It didn’t _seem_ like George to suddenly refuse to let Paul help. George usually _hated_ taking care of a hungover and/or sick John, as a hungover and/or sick John always got snappy and mean to anyone who wasn’t Paul and George did _not_ have the patience to deal with _‘such bullshite’._ His words, not Paul’s.

_And yet…_

Paul scowled and took another sip of his orange juice, staring at his half-eaten scone. He was _troubled._ John got all cold at him out of nowhere last night and then got fuckin’ tanked and Geo was acting _even colder_ and they’d shared a room last night and he was _troubled._ And _worried._

Because he was a _caring person,_ goddammit, but Geo didn’t even _allow_ him to be the caring _fucking_ person that he actually was, that son of a _bitch-_

No. Louise was very kind.

George was just a _fuckface._

A fuckface who was unclear about his intentions and _jesus fuck_ why did this bother him so much?

“You there?”

Paul blinked and focused his gaze on Ringo, who’d already completely devoured his croissant and was reaching for the fruit bowl. The drummer was looking at him questioningly and pursed his lips, waiting for an answer.

“Yeah,” he managed to say, “I’m here,” and then quickly stuffed the rest of his scone in his mouth as to avoid saying anything else.

Ringo just raised his eyebrows as he rifled through the fruit bowl, picking out whatever he desired. “So tell me,” he then said dryly, still slowly going through all the fruits, “what’s crawled up yer arse ‘n died?”

Paul almost choked on his scone. “Wha’?”

Ringo, who’d decided on a particularly large strawberry, waved the fruit in his face. It felt oddly threatening. “The expression on yer face reveals to me that there’s either an uncomfortably large dildo stuck up yer butt, or you’re just mentally troubled at the moment.” He bit into his strawberry and chewed obnoxiously. “So tell me what it is!”

Well, since he said it through a mouthful of fruit, it actually sounded more like _“shoshellmewafisish”,_ but Paul understood nevertheless. He’d known _Geo_ since he was nine now, and had become quite adept at figuring out what people tried to say with their mouths full; even when the person in question _wasn’t_ Geo.

Paul swallowed his scone, heart pumping. “I’ve got a headache.”

“Tha’s not it,” Ringo rolled his eyes and stuffed the rest of the strawberry into his mouth. This time, he did chew and swallow before he talked. “Don’t play _coy_ with me, McCartney. Something’s botherin’ ye, and it’s not the hangover, because _I,_ for one, know you haven’t got one.”

Paul stayed silent.

“Y’know,” Ringo continued, and he dug through the fruit bowl again, “‘cause you couldn’t drink, ‘n all tha’.”

“You’re hilarious,” Paul deadpanned, and he grabbed another scone. His knife was still covered in marmalade and he licked it off before putting it in the cream cheese, smoothly ignoring Ringo’s slightly disgusted glare. “Ritchie, we’ve shared _lollipops.”_

“And you and Geo have taken turns to give some lad a blowjob simultaneously in the same bloody stall, but you never want me to bring that up.”

 _“Because we were shitfaced and it just, I don’t know,_ ‘appened,” Paul hissed, rather aggressively smearing the cream cheese on his scone. That was a memory that, though rather fun, was kind of embarrassing and a _bit_ too r-rated for the early morning. Teenage boys were horny bastards. “It’s not even twelve yet and you’ve decided to remind me of tha’. Unbelievable.”

“I’d just like to know why you’re in such a bad mood,” Ringo half-whined, and he plopped a blueberry in his mouth. “Is it because of John and Geo?”

When Paul paused sticking his knife in the marmalade, Ringo grinned widely. “It is, isn’t it? Well, tell me then.”

 _“I hate you,”_ Paul muttered under his breath, and he emptied half of the pot of marmalade onto his scone. “And yes, you’re right.”

“Very interesting.” Ringo leaned backwards in his chair, smirking. “What ‘bout them, then? You reckon they’re shaggin’?”

Paul stiffened and he swallowed down the _surge_ of jealousy in his stomach, breathing heavily through his nose. _“Ringo.”_

Ringo’s grin was dangerous, eyes calculating. _“Ah,_ there it is,” he said, tone low. “You’re jealous, aren’t ye? Jealous of them hangin’ out right now, even though Johnny’s been at your beck ‘n call for the past month or so. Ye’re upset that when _John_ was upset he went to George ‘stead of you, and that you couldn’t sleep in the same room as ‘im last night. Am I right?”

“Ritchie, _please.”_

“You’re so used to John chasin’ ye around like a lovesick puppy that when he doesn’t, _that’s_ when ye notice ‘im.” Ringo raised one eyebrow. The grin on his face was gone, and in its place was a very serious, almost _solemn_ expression. _“God,_ Macca, you’re kind of an arse sometimes, huh?”

“Wha-”

“Bit of an understatement.” George’s voice came out of nowhere, and Paul jumped up, foot narrowly avoiding the solid wood leg of the table. His friend stared at him, unimpressed, and the slightest hint of a scowl formed on his face. “You’re a big-ass dick, Paul.”

It was like a slap to the face. They called each other names all the time, but it was always in good fun. Nothing serious, nothing painful, nothing that would make the other feel like actual _shit,_ unless they were terribly pissed at one another.

That meant-

Paul inhaled sharply. His eyes were burning and he willed his tears back. Unbelievably inconvenient that he felt like crying _now,_ of all times. “Geo,” he asked, “what did I do?”

Something akin to surprise flitted over George’s face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared, and he rolled his eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Macca,” he said harshly, and turned to walk away.

Desperate to know what the fuck was going on, Paul felt panic flare up in his stomach and grabbed the George’s elbow in a flash, yanking him back: the younger boy stumbled back with an _‘oof’_ before turning sharply, scowling.

“The fuck was that for?” he half-hissed, half-whined, rubbing at his elbow. Ringo cackled in the background, and George looked even _more_ annoyed now (if that was even possible). If Paul hadn’t been so worried he would’ve marvelled at the extent to which Geo could portray his emotions with his face.

He bit his lip instead, and started picking at the nail on his thumb. “What’s wrong?” he asked quietly, voice incredibly tiny. “You’ve been... weird. What’s wrong, Geo?”

George pursed his lips. “Well, y’know,” he said, sounding rather miffed, “you’re kind of a gigantic tosser. That’s what’s wrong.”

Paul blinked, a very uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. “Excuse me?”

“You’re a tosser,” George said, voice monotone. “A wanker, a twat, a git, an arsehole, a knobhead, a gormless tit-”

“You should write tha’ down,” Paul muttered, but George continued.

“-a fucker, a maggot, a pillock,” the expression on his face was a strange mix between annoyance and satisfaction as he finished off, “a muppet, a prat, and a twit.”

“Isn’t twit the same as twat?

“Tom-ay-to tom-ah-to,” George rolled his eyes at Ringo’s background snickering. “Oh, and you’re also an oblivious slag.”

Paul frowned and averted his eyes. They were still burning, _inconsiderate bastards_. “You don’t need to be rude.”

“Yeah, but _you’re_ rude,” he pointed out, waving his hand in the direction of the stairs. “You’re rude and I’ve had enough.”

“In what way am I rude?” Paul threw his hands in the air. “I’m a kind person! I give to charity! I help old ladies cross the street! I _cook_ for you!”

 _“Not without complaints,”_ Ringo muttered, but George and Paul ignored him.

“I mean to _John_ ,” George explained harshly. “You’re an arse to John.”

 _‘How…?’_ Paul frowned again, deeper this time. “I’m not- wha’ are you on about?”

George produced a long-suffering sigh that Paul had become well acquainted with over the years they’d been friends. It hadn’t been directed at him _often -_ usually at annoying classmates - but the times it’d _had,_ he’d usually done something wrong in Geo’s eyes. Which _obviously_ was the case now, but Paul hadn’t a clue what.

“Well” Geo said, eyes cold, “you’re kind of a dick to ‘im, aren’t you? Playin’ with ‘im like tha’.” He looked up at the ceiling, looking very done. Even though George _usually_ looked done, this appeared to be more serious than usual and it made Paul uncomfortable. “It’s like you don’t even _know_ how ‘e feels-”

Paul’s heart skipped a beat and then started to beat at top-speed. “Feels like wha’?” he interrupted, feeling very out of breath all of a sudden. George stayed silent, staring at him with a look of confusion. Paul gritted his teeth and tried to calm his raging heart. “Feels like _what,_ George?”

George blinked a couple of times. Paul was so focused on finding out what the _fuck_ George was talking about, he didn’t even have the time to be unbelievably jealous of the younger boy’s insane eyelashes. _Unbelievable._ “Ye really don’t know?” George then asked carefully, frowning a little.

“Do I _sound_ like I know?”

At that George snorted and muttered something that vaguely sounded like _‘you never know’,_ and Ringo produced a sound that was either a _‘yes’_ or a _‘no’_ . Very confusing _._ Either way, Paul _really_ didn’t know. He didn’t know why the _fuck_ George was acting so weird, or why John’d had the _brilliant_ decision to drink himself into oblivion the night before. But he _wanted_ to know, because he was _worried._

That’s just the type of person Paul was. He _worried,_ because he _cared._ He was a caring person who _worried._ And he wanted to know what the _fuck_ was going on.

“Anyway,” George then said, and he crossed his arms. “Ye _really_ don’t know? Like, _really?”_

 _“George,”_ Paul groaned, getting a bit frustrated now.

“No suspicions too, like,”

“No!” he burst out, and George had the _balls_ to look genuinely startled. “I _don’t_ know, okay? I _don’t_ know whatever the fuck kind of feelings John might have, and I _don’t_ know what the fuck I did wrong for you to be angry with me and John to be weird with me and Ringo to be” he gestured frustratedly at the drummer, who waved through a mouthful of mango, “even _more_ bloody observant than usual. _I don’t know,_ okay?”

George bit his lip and glanced at Ringo. “I’m not sure if it’s our place to tell-”

“George,” Paul warned, “I will _literally_ not hesitate to castrate you with my butterknife if you don’t _fuckin’_ tell me what I did wrong and can improve on that.”

“Intimidating,” Ringo piped up from behind his fruit bowl, “much threat.” When no-one replied, he went back to his mango with an eyeroll.

George blinked. “Ye just went all posh on me,” he noted quietly. “You only do that when you’re dead serious.”

Paul waited.

“Alright, _fine.”_ George groaned, and he dragged an exhausted hand down his face. “John likes you,” he stated bluntly. Paul’s heart stopped beating. “Like, _really, really_ likes you. It’s embarrassin’, really. I was the the firs’ person he admitted it to, and Ringo basically the second.” He paused. “Maybe Stu, I don’t know what those two talk ‘bout when they call, and I’m sure it’s not Harry Styles’ new tattoo. Anyway, we all thought you knew and were kind of fuckin’ with ‘im with all the teasing ‘n stuff, y’know. But apparently that _wasn’t_ teasin’, you just genuinely didn’t know. Even though I’m _baffled_ that ye didn’t because oh my _God_ was it obvious, _holy shit._ The lad had heart-eyes every single fuckin’ time he looked at ye. Both pitiful and adorable, honestly. He _cried_ once because he felt so guilty that he hadn’t bought the right brand of orange juice and you went off on ‘im like, two days after you fell, y’know? That was rather sad, actually, but whatever. _God_ the lad is whipped- anyroad, last night he wanted to go for it and flirted with ye and it seemed to go well but then ye charmed the pants off that tall lad in the pastel blue t-shirt and completely ignored Johnny and he got sad and decided to drink ‘is sorrows away, like.” George shrugged. “‘n tha’ went kind of wrong.”

Paul blinked.

And stared at nothing in particular.

And blinked again.

Then:

_“John likes me?”_

“Is tha’ all ye got?” Ringo asked drily. “Lad’s in _fuckin’_ love with ye, y’know.”

Paul felt a blush creep up and seconds later he was beet red. “Oh my God,” he muttered, bringing his hands up to his cheeks. “Oh my _God.”_

“No it’s George,” George said amusedly, and Ringo snorted. Paul, however, didn’t notice that little exchange. He was both panicking and feeling all kinds of feelings - mostly positive, but he also felt the incredibly overwhelming sense of _guilt._ Because how long had John been pining after him? How long had he written off any flirting as John being his normal, annoying, _adorable_ self, and how many times had he not flirted back without any intention that it’d go anywhere because John was _straight,_ right? Not bisexual? Not gay?

But he _wasn’t,_ apparently, because John _liked him._ Like, _like-liked him._ All this time he _hadn’t_ been as straight as a ruler and he’d just been oblivious and terrible and oh my _God-_

 _“Oh my God,”_ Paul repeated, and he felt like crying. “Why am I so stupid? Geo, Ringo, why am I so stupid? Am I sleeping? Pinch me, Geo, fuckin’ _pinch me.”_

George pinched him and he sprung back with an _‘ow’,_ ache in his arm and panic in his body. Then he wrapped his arms around himself and laughed. _“Oh my God,”_ he whispered, “he isn’t straight. John isn’t straight. He’s not just fuckin’ around. Oh my God.”

“He’s very much not straight, love,” George said gently, and Paul stepped forward and grasped his oldest friend harshly by the shoulders, shaking him slightly and looking him straight in the eye.

“What do I do?” he said, genuinely panicking now, “Geo what do I do!? _Ritchie-”_ he released George and almost leapt across the table, grasping Ringo’s sleepshirt with one hand and tugging him closer. Ringo almost choked on a grape. “Ritchie what do I do? Help me, holy _shit,_ what do I do?”

“Why are you such a useless gay...” George groaned, and he dragged Paul off the table. He grasped Paul’s face and stared him down. Paul stared back, heart in his throat. Tears were burning his eyes, and he was both elated and terrified because of his complete obliviousness. “You’re such an idiot. _‘What do I do,’_ ,” George mimicked in a high-pitched voice that didn’t resemble Paul’s at _all_ , rolling his eyes. “You go to ‘im, and ye talk. Alright? And, I don’t know, if you genuinely like him ask ‘im out or somethin’.”

Paul nodded harshly. “Yes. Yes, I should, shouldn’t I?” He stepped back, nodding to himself, breathing in deeply through his nose. “I should. I’m gonna go talk to him and I’m gonna ask ‘im out. I’m gonna do it. Yes. Okay. Alright. Ask ‘im out, talk to ‘im. That’s easy right?” he looked at George and Ringo, grinned, and set off. “Ask ‘im out, talk to ‘im. Cool. Alright. Cool.”

“Paul I meant-” George started to say, but he was too late, apparently. Paul raced up the stairs, heart in his throat, but more determined than he’d ever been. He was going to do it. He was just going to waltz in that goddamn room and say it. He was going to _fuckin’_ do it because he had _time to_ _make up for,_ goddammit.

The door was thankfully unlocked, but he threw it open with a _bit_ too much force. It banged against the wall and John, who’d been peacefully snoring on his back, startled awake. He squinted, blinking slowly, looking downright _adorable._ His hair stuck up in all kinds of directions and his eyes were heavy lidded, circled with dark shadows.

Okay, he actually looked like absolute shit, but it was still cute. Kind of unfair, really. Paul sped towards him and jumped on the twin bed, accidentally straddling him. He did very much enjoy this position, honestly, and placed his palms next to John’s head.

“Hi,” he said, very nervous all of a sudden.

 _Pfff._ As if he weren’t before.

“Hi,” John croaked back. He still looked hungover, but also actually quite awake now. A healthy-looking blush covered his face as he stared at Paul, wide-eyed, and he shifted a little. “Erm, what are you-”

“Will you go out with me?” Paul asked, bluntly, and John choked on air.

Somewhere, downstairs in the kitchen, someone _cackled._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)  
> Heh.  
> So.  
> That finally happened.  
> xxx


	20. marmalade, villain?!?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Paul,” John groaned, and he breathed in shakily.   
> "Yes??" Paul’s hands shot down and he grasped John by the shoulders, shaking him a little. That he accidentally grinded his crotch against John's by doing that didn't even register, and he wiggled a bit again.   
> John bit down on his lip(a, dare Paul say, very sexy action) and frowned, as if he were in pain.
> 
> ***  
> john is distressed, so paul is distressed. ringo and george are heavily amused and hardcore shippers.  
> also, use protection kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author adores Shrek, but also very much adores "Accidentally in Love" by Counting Crows, because author is a SOFT LASS.   
> Also unedited. Did you expect anything less from me? No. No you did not.

**_11:51_ **

“Will you go out with me?” Paul blurted, panting hard. John continued to stare wide-eyed and mouth slightly agape. It was unfair how handsome he looked like that, all  _ hungover  _ and startled.  _ ‘What a bitch,’ _ Paul thought, rather miffed. 

_ “Well?”  _ he demanded. He was honestly ready to jump up and leave at any moment if he saw so much of a  _ hint  _ of rejection. “What do you think?”

He wasn’t sure how he’d react to  _ rejection _ of all things, especially considering his headache and mood swings and unbelievable lack of sleep. He’d probably start bawling immediately and climb into Ringo’s lap to cry out on his shoulder. Not saying that George wouldn’t try to make him feel better, but it was just  _ less comfortable;  _ George’s shoulder and lap were just too bony. Not Paul’s fault that he’d to still feel his arse after crying on top of his best friend for three hours. 

John blinked and swallowed, and Paul’s heart was in his bloody  _ throat,  _ somewhere near his jaw in harsh and consistent pumps. It was safe to say he was bloody terrified, especially since John stared at him with an expression that was somewhere between confusion and…  _ disgust?  _ Was it that?

_ ‘Oh God oh God o God,’  _ he thought. John  _ did  _ look a little green around the edges, the blush gone from his cheeks. He looked like he’d seen a  _ ghost,  _ really, but a disgusting ghost. Paul suddenly twitched:  _ had he brushed his teeth? How did he look anyway, he hadn’t looked in the mirror yet- was there marmalade smeared around his mouth??? _

Just as Paul sat back and leaned a little heavier on John, wiping furiously at his mouth, John let out a sound, but he didn’t really _say_ anything. It sounded rather constipated, like a strangled moan more so than as if he tried to actually speak but couldn’t. Concern swirled in Paul’s stomach and he placed both of his hands on John’s cheeks.

“Is something wrong?” he asked softly, and he fingered a lock of John’s messy hair without noticing he was doing so. “John?”

_ “Paul,”  _ John groaned, and he breathed in shakily. 

"Yes??" Paul’s hands shot down and he grasped John by the shoulders, shaking him a little. That he accidentally grinded his crotch against John's by doing that didn't even  _ register, _ and he wiggled a bit again. 

John bit down on his lip(a, dare Paul say,  _ very _ sexy action) and frowned, as if he were in pain. Then he groaned softly again.  _ "Paul,"  _ he muttered, voice somewhat strained, "cuyegeaffeeze."

Sadly,  _ ‘cuyegeaffeeze’  _ is not a fuckin’ word, which meant that Paul was completely and utterly clueless about what  _ on earth _ John was asking of him. He merely looked at his best friend/crush/seat questioningly, rubbing his thumb absentmindedly over John’s exposed collarbone.

John took a deep, shuddering breath. "I-" he started, before stopping and probably deciding that he should form his request differently. He exhaled again, very shakily, and squeezed his eyes shut. "Paul," he whispered, voice weak and shaky, “could ye-  _ could-"  _

And then it happened.

Okay, let's start by saying that Paul never  _ expected  _ to receive a positive reaction to his downright  _ weird _ question. Well, the question itself wasn't weird, but the context: he was currently sitting on top of his best friend, who was  _ allegedly _ in love with him and had,  _ allegedly,  _ been in love with him for months, who he had  _ apparently  _ neglected for several months and had  _ apparently  _ hurt a lot as well all because he hadn't realised the boy's flirting wasn't his usual, teasing flirting, and now he yelled at said boy whether he wanted to go out with him or not. It was weird, it was unexpected, and John’s mind was probably fried at the moment. Not ideal, really.

So Paul  _ really  _ didn't expect a positive answer. Even if he'd probably break down and cry if he got rejected as he was, simply said, a  _ pussy,  _ he still half-expected to get rejected. He'd put John a good few weeks of hell by being oblivious, so he wouldn't blame him. But honestly, this reaction was on a whole other level.

And that reaction, in fact, was John puking all over Paul.

Paul screamed.

****

It took George  _ hours _ to stop laughing. 

Paul supposed that it  _ was  _ kind of funny, just not from his perspective. It hadn't been comfortable at  _ all,  _ and John almost burst into tears after it'd happened, which meant that Paul frantically tried to comfort John while  _ still being covered in vomit.  _ John crying meant that  _ Paul  _ would be crying, as well,  _ eventually.  _ He didn’t do well with an upset John when he  _ himself _ was upset, and though he would’ve liked nothing more than to curl up against John and press his face in the crook of the other’s neck, he  _ was  _ still covered in vomit which was honestly kind of gross. 

George and Ringo had slowly and silently made their way up the stairs after hearing Paul's _ shriek-from-hell,  _ and George had almost collapsed in the doorway after he'd realised what happened. His laughing fit had rendered him useless at helping, too, and a  _ heavily amused  _ Ringo had helped a shocked Paul and a mortified, crying John clean the mess up. 

About thirty minutes later both John and Paul had managed to take brief, refreshing showers, Ringo had cleaned the carpet, and George had thrown the soiled sheets and clothing in the washer. John, hair still dripping wet, had swaddled himself in blankets and carefully curled up on the sofa, while Paul had allowed himself to sink down next to him(albeit rather stiffly, he felt a bit awkward). Ringo had deposited himself on the floor, stretched out on the big, fluffy rug his mother, Elsie, had encouraged they’d buy.  _ ‘A house,’  _ Paul remembered her saying,  _ ‘is never complete without a rug.’  _ The rug had been bought second hand off a sketchy guy from Blackpool and they’d thoroughly cleaned the thing before bringing it into the house. Mimi had, after hearing about their newest purchase, even gone over it with a hoover  _ five times _ on her bloody  _ knees( _ John’s mouth fell open at that), and Louise and Mary(two peas in a pod regarding general scepticism to trusting their sons to do, well,  _ anything)  _ had had the damn thing tested for any type of drug residue. 

It was clean, which was probably why Ringo currently had no issues with starfishing on the carpet and digging his fingers into the dusty fibres. 

“Alright,” George said, swaggering into their living room with a bright smile on his handsome face. John’s favourite mug - a bright yellow one, complete with a shitty doodle of a lemon with sunglasses and a roman nose and “john lemon” scribbled under it in Paul’s handwriting - was clutched between his long fingers, and Geo pushed it into John’s limp grip gently as soon as he was close enough. The boy grasped the mug a little tighter on reflex, and sniffed at liquid. Paul could smell it from beside him; peppermint. 

Geo swore by it, he remembered, and he trusted that judgement as he himself had experienced the tea helping. The first time they’d gotten drunk together they’d been fifteen and had crashed at George’s place, on his twin sleeper. They’d woken up, hungover, at ten in the morning to an empty house, tangled up in a mess of limbs, hair, drool, and sweat, and had krept down the stairs. Paul had groaned, he remembered. He’d groaned and dropped his head in his hands, complaining of an upset stomach and a pounding head, and a grinning George had plonked _peppermint_ _tea_ in front of him. He’d promised the tea would help, and _it did._ Bloody miracle.

The smell, however, can put someone off if they’re nauseous, and that was exactly what Paul expected as he watched the scent hit John. The boy grimaced and swallowed, looking at the tea with a wary look on his face.

George apparently also noticed John’s distasteful glance. “Just drink it, John love,” George said, and he patted John’s knee fondly. “It’ll help. Promise.”

Paul squeezed John’s elbow, and then there was one tentative sip. 

At that sight, a beaming smile was sent his way, and George clapped his hands. “Alright,” he repeated, and he could hardly hide the chuckle in his voice. “Methinks it’s time for a good brekkie, innit, John love?”

John didn’t say anything, merely nodded with a glassy look in his eyes as he sipped on his tea. George rolled his eyes at that and winked at Paul before sauntering off into the kitchen. It didn’t take long before Paul heard the clattering of pots and pans from the room, followed by some giggling. John curled into himself a little more. 

“Well,” Ringo stated after a long silence, his blue gaze switching between John and Paul. “What a mornin’, huh?”

“Suppose so,” Paul muttered, ignoring another bout of George’s laughter. He looked at John briefly, who shrunk even more at the sound of Geo’s amusement, and bit down on his bottom lip. “Well. At least I’ve properly woken up now.”

“I haven’t heard you yell like that in quite some time, y’know Paul,” Ringo grinned at him. “Gave me a real fright, ye did. You too, though,” he then said, nodding at John, “las’ night? Bloody hell, mate, the two of ye disappeared like a bunch of ghosts.”

“Felt ill,” John muttered hoarsely, mug raised close to his face, “Geo helped.”

“He’s bein’ awfully nice today,” Ringo mused, “wonder why.”

_ “I am just a nice person!”  _ came from the kitchen. 

Paul smiled. “Couldn’t imagine what.”

A loud  _ “HEY” _ from the kitchen followed, and Ringo chortled from his place on the carpet. Even John smiled, though quite weakly, and took another sip of his peppermint tea. Progress. 

George started laughing from the kitchen again. After Ringo shouted  _ “whatcha gigglin ‘bout?”,  _ Geo replied with a  _ “you know what”  _ which made John frown and bring his mug even closer to his face now, nose almost submerged in the warm liquid. 

“What’re ye doin’?” Paul asked, confused and kind of concerned at John’s behaviour. “Does your nose hurt or something?”

“No,” John replied, staring at the floor expressionlessly. “‘m tryin’ to drown meself.”

George started  _ howling  _ at that(after which Paul heard a sharp and loud  _ “fuck”), _ Ringo slapped his knees in pure glee, sitting up so fast that he almost banged his head against the coffee table, Paul couldn’t help but giggle, and even John cracked a little smile.

They then fell into a rather comfortable silence, Ringo piping up every once in a while with information about shit he found in the rug. From food crumbs to beer caps to  _ actual  _ money, he had some commentary for  _ everything,  _ displaying his rug-treasures on the coffee table.

It didn’t take very long for George to emerge from the kitchen, then, proudly displaying a plate filled with toast topped with cheese and a sunny-side up, vegetarian bacon  _ dripping  _ in grease, and a scone with cream cheese and marmalade. He carefully put the plate down on the coffee table, muttering a  _ “hey, I lost this  _ ages  _ ago,”  _ at one of Ringo’s rug-deepdive-finds(a small necklace with a coin pendant, Ringo had dubbed it “mysterious magical item number five”), before pointing an accusing finger at Paul.

_ “You,” _ he hissed, dark eyes narrowed.

Paul pointed at himself. “Me?” he asked, confused.

“Yes, thee, twat,” George spat. He pointed at John’s scone heatedly. “Thou shouldst be  _ jailed _ for thine atrocious deeds!”

Paul blinked. He felt a smile tugging a his mouth. “The scone?”

“Nay!” George cried dramatically, nose in the air, “thee!”

“Me,” Paul agreed. 

“Thou did finish my marmalade, villain,” his friend continued, accusing pointing never wavering, “‘t was a new jar. Wench!”

Paul covered his quivering mouth with his hand. ****  
** **

“Dareth thou glance away, villain?” George appeared to be on a roll now, though his voice did not sound as strong as before. He probably was holding back laughter as well. “I will  _ excrement  _ on thy grandmoth’r…!”

Paul produced a squeak he did not know he  _ could  _ produce, and George broke. They laughed wholeheartedly, and Paul, who was more than glad that George didn’t appear as pissed at him as he had been a mere hour ago, felt a warm feeling spreading through his body. Through his tears he saw John tentatively place his empty mug on the coffee table and reach out for his dinner, biting slowly in his toast. 

After their laughter died down George also noticed John’s brave eating and he reached out to run his fingers through John’s messy, damp hair, before turning to sit down next to Ringo and giggle about whatever. Paul bumped John’s shoulder gently and John gave him a close-mouthed smile, Paul smiling back.

Now though, while the boy was shoveling down his late breakfast, John  _ still  _ hadn't answered his question.

And that  _ irked  _ Paul. 

It irked him very much so. 

****

**_private chat_ **

_ “Goerge” is online _

_ “Macca” is online _

****

**_16:23_ **

_ Goerge:  _ so

_ Goerge:  _ what was his answer actually?

_ Macca:  _ Geo what?? Why couldn’t you just ask me in person?

_ Goerge:  _ because I’m at the library rn and not at the apartment?

_ Macca:  _ oh

_ Macca:  _ why are you at the library???

_ Goerge:  _ because I have to study?? what do you take me for

_ Macca:  _ yet you’re texting me.

_ Macca:  _ suspicious

_ Goerge:  _ it’s not suspicious it’s my normal behaviour

_ Macca:  _ (¬_¬) still suspicious

_ Goerge:  _ pol c’mon you’ve known me for years

_ Goerge:  _ as if I would not desperately grasp at any opportunity that will provide me with distraction from studying 

_Goerge:_ also I'm already on my way back no worries, I didn't spend the entire day here. haven't been replaced by an alien!

_ Macca:  _ … okay yea

_ Goerge:  _ and you’re changing the subject!!

_ Macca:  _ no I’m not. 

_ Goerge:  _ paul

_ Macca:  _ I swear!!

_ Goerge:  _ ( ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)

_ Goerge:  _ paul.

_ Macca: …  _

_ Macca:  _ okay I might be avoiding the question

_ Macca:  _ I don’t like confrontation because I’m inherently frightened of getting my hopes up and then being horribly disappointed if reality does not match my dreams, thus crushing them terribly as if they were grapes suspended mid-air and reality is two double decker buses driving at each other at top speed

_ Macca:  _ whatever. 

_ Macca:  _ bleh

_ Goerge:  _ kay cool

_ Goerge:  _ those are issues we should totally touch upon sometime! chill

_ Goerge:  _ anyway, has he answered yet or nah??

_ Macca:  _ he hasn’t

_ Macca:  _ cue my rant on having my hopes and dreams destroyed.

_ Goerge:  _ paul

_ Goerge:  _ laddie

_ Macca:  _ I’m not sure I like where this is going

_ Goerge:  _ do you know how much john likes you? 

_ Goerge:  _ do you even have the slightest clue?

_ Macca:  _ I mean you kind of told me

_ Goerge:  _ the lad looks at you like you’ve put the stars in the sky

_ Goerge:  _ like you’re the kindest, prettiest, purest, most beautiful thing on earth

_ Macca:  _ I feel like there’s gonna be a stab at me

_ Goerge:  _ krishna knows why, you’re a gigantic twat

_ Macca:  _ ah, there it is

_ Goerge:  _ anyway

_ Goerge:  _ he’d do anything for you, I suppose

_ Goerge:  _ he’d walk through FIRE for you

_ Macca:  _ wouldn’t you?

_ Goerge:  _ ehm

_ Goerge:  _ sure? 

_ Goerge:  _ though maybe not fire, that might hurt a lot

_ Goerge:  _ a very humid room, like

_ Goerge:  _ but not too humid, cause of my hair

_ Macca:  _ glad to know you love me

_ Goerge:  _ you’re welcome! pleased to please :)

_ Macca:  _ but how do you know he’ll say yes?

_ Macca:  _ like you said, I’m kind of a twat

_ Goerge:  _ Macca, sweetheart

_ Goerge:  _ he babbled about you and your greatness the ENTIRE way back home this morning

_ Goerge:  _ “oh geo, his eyes are so beautiful!” “oh geo, have you seen his mouth? it’s perfect” “oh geo, I could listen to him talk for a hundred years and it still wouldn’t be enough for me”

_ Goerge:  _ I was in Hell. 

_ Macca:  _ oh my god. 

_ Goerge:  _ yeah

_ Goerge:  _ I wish he’d been there

_ Goerge:  _ would’ve been more comfortable for me

_ Macca:  _ okay okay okay I’m gonna ask him again

_ Macca:  _ I’m gonna do it

_ Goerge:  _ okay!! keep me updated!! xxx

****

**_16:27_ **

John and Ringo were sitting shoulder to shoulder on John’s bed, Ringo’s old laptop in front of them. They’d decided on the second Shrek movie, the one Paul had pirated for them once upon a time. They’d just sat down, actually, the first chords of  _ Counting Crows  _ blasting through the shitty speakers of Ringo’s laptop, when John sighed deeply.

“What’s wrong lad?” Ringo murmured, eyes on Fiona and Shrek’s honeymoon. They were both shaving now, or something. Poetic cinema. “Still feelin’ shitty?”

“Paul asked me out,” was John’s answer.

Ringo’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Well, yes,” he said slowly, turning away from the screen to look at his troubled friend. “We heard that. Pretty sure the neighbours heard that as well.”

John bit his lip. “And then I puked all over him.”

“I remember,” Ringo answered, frowning a little. “So what’s the problem? You don’t wanna date him?”

“I do!” John groaned slightly, slouching a little more. He looked miserable. “But I  _ puked  _ all over him, Ritchie. Does he still want to go out with me? Would you?”

“Gotta be honest, mate,” Ringo said dryly, “being puked on is kind of a turn off. But I’m sure Paul’s not deterred by that.”

John said nothing, and Ringo turned back to the screen. After a couple of minutes, though, John gestured at the movie with a limp hand. 

“Fiona was not deterred by Shrek,” he muttered lowly, and just as Ringo barked out a laugh there was a knock on the door. It opened slightly, and a pair of gigantic hazel eyes blinked in their direction. The person stepped inside.

“Heya, Paulie,” Ringo smiled. 

Paul lifted his hand and waved limply, shooting Ringo a weak smile before his gaze shot to John. “Could you give us a moment, please, Ritch?”

Ringo nodded slightly, squeezing the crook of John’s arm fondly before putting the movie on pause and sliding off the bed. He grinned cheekily at Paul while passing him, and judging by the nervous smile Paul returned, some shit was about to go down. 

He’d be peeking through the lock. 

****

John and Paul both watched the door fall closed. As soon as the lock clicked, Paul slowly approached John’s bed, questioningly looking at the space Ringo had occupied moments earlier. 

“Go ‘ead,” John said softly, and Paul climbed onto the bed, carefully ignoring Ringo’s laptop and smoothly plopping down next to John. Paul resisted jerking back when the contact of skin on skin felt like it’d caused an electric current to pass through him, and merely decided on biting his lip harshly. 

Though George’s encouragement had been…  _ decent,  _ that didn’t take away the fact that he was nervous.  _ Very nervous.  _ He’d fucked up, one-hundred percent, and he actually kind of really wanted to die - but he had the slightest of suspicions that George would personally dig him up and pull a Frankenstein on him to ensure that his ship sailed. 

He was a monster already anyway. 

_ God,  _ that sounded depressing. 

Just as Paul started to wallow in self-pity without even having  _ started a bloody conversation,  _ John piped up. Thank God that at least  _ one of them  _ knew how the fuck things like conversations worked.

“So,” he said, slowly, and he tapped his fingers on his thigh. Paul stared at them, brain filling with sinful thoughts, breath quickening.  _ ‘John has amazing thighs.  _ God,  _ what I’d do to him-’  _ he thought, before cutting himself off. _ ‘Yeah. Okay. Hold up. Contain your thirst, casanova.’ _

“What’s up?” John continued, oblivious to Paul’s inner turmoil. 

“I’m sexually deprived and afraid of rejection?” he automatically answered, cringing as soon as the words left his mouth.  _ ‘Bit too fast, McCartney.’ _

John blinked. “What?”

Paul sighed. He might as well cut to the chase, honestly. There was no point in stalling, as it’d only make him feel even  _ worse.  _ “I asked ye out,” he stated, as-a-matter-of-factly. 

“You did,” John confirmed.

“Then you puked all over me.”

John turned red. “I did.”

Paul pursed his lips as he stared at John, leaning in a bit closer. “Would ye still like to go out with me, even after I yelled at ye and sat on you like a brat?”

There were a couple of nerve-wracking seconds of silence. Paul’s heart pumped at an unbelievably fast pace, and he could feel his pulse near his jaw going at it. His mouth was suddenly bone-dry and he swallowed painfully as he stared at John’s expressionless face.  _ God,  _ he was nervous. 

John sniffed. “You still want t’go out with  _ me?”  _ he sounded more surprised than anything, and Paul felt  _ very  _ confused. It must’ve shown on his face, as John continued. “I… vomited all over you,” he clarified quietly. “Not the most attractive move. Thought you’d- thought you’d be too disgusted.”

Paul couldn’t help it, then, but he smiled. There was an insane amount of relief - that John’d felt just as nervous about it, just as  _ bad,  _ and oh my  _ God  _ did that feel good. “You’ve thrown up on me before,” Paul stated gently, “remember? And I was attracted to you then, and I’m still attracted to you now.”

John turned red. “You’re attracted to me?”

“Why the fuck would I ask ye out then?”

“I don’t know,” John gnawed on his bottom lip. “Pity?”

Paul barked out half of a laugh, and then swung his leg over John’s lap. He settled down, straddling his friend like he had before but probably more comfortable, and caged him with his arms. John’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and Paul’s eyes lingered on the base of John’s throat before he looked him straight in the eyes, cursing himself. He really  _ was  _ sexually deprived, holy shit. Shaking his head to clear his mind of his thoughts, he sighed.

“It’s not pity,” he murmured softly, “I promise. I really like you, didn’t realise you liked me back.” Paul paused. “Did ye know your so called ‘flirting’ from last night is literally the way you’ve behaved with me for the past, I don’t know, four years?”

“Is it really?” John squeaked.

“Yes,” he replied, and he grinned. “You were kind of unclear about your intentions, love.”

John muttered a  _ ‘sorry’,  _ and placed a daring hand on Paul’s shoulder, just at the base of his neck, and another on his waist. His thumb stroked Paul’s collarbone, mirroring Paul’s actions from the morning pre- _ incredible embarrassment.  _ It felt very natural, sitting like this, though his heart was still beating at an ungodly speed. 

The younger boy grinned again, cocking his head a little. “S alright,” he said, “I was kind of a twat as well.” At John’s tiny nod, he giggled again, leaning forward a little. “Sorry,” he pursed his lips a little, watching as John’s gaze slid down to his mouth. “But, do you still want to go out with me?”

John smiled. A beautiful smile, really, not one of his smirks or evil grins. Just a genuine, bright smile, one that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and his slight dimples show. 

“Of course,” he whispered, and they both leaned in to close the gap.

The door of their room slammed open and they jerked away from each other as if they’d been burned, Paul scrambling over to the foot of the bed with a hand on his heart and John throwing himself onto his pillow. 

George and Ringo stood in the doorway, George soaking wet and disheveled and Ringo cringing, hand wrapped around George’s skinny wrist. They stared, and stared, and stared, and John and Paul stared back.

“Oh,” George said, rather dumbly.

John and Paul blinked at him from their opposite ends of the bed. 

George blinked back, and something seemed to click.

_ “Oh!!!”  _ he repeated, a broad grin slowly spreading across his face. Paul wanted to slap it off. He’d  _ ruined  _ a moment. George had  _ ruined  _ a moment. What an  _ arsehole. _

“Oh!” Ringo echoed, smiling cheekily. Paul wanted to kill him less, but still kill him. He, too, was guilty of ruining a fuckin’ moment. 

“OH!” the arseholes chorused. 

John waved a limp hand in their direction from his position on top of the pillow. “Can you like,” he swallowed, a whiny tone to his hoarse voice, “I don’t know…  _ fuck off?” _

George grin turned at that mischievous, and Paul wanted to slap him again. “Of course,” he said slowly, and he winked at Paul.  _ Fucker.  _ “We know when we’re not wanted, right, Ritchie?”

“Fuck yes we do.” Ringo grinned at them again and saluted, starting to drag George out of the room. John and Paul silently stared as they left.

One of them,  _ probably  _ George but it  _ sounded _ like Ringo, yelled  _ “don’t forget to use protection!”  _ just as the door fell shut, and Paul slapped his hands against his cheeks. John snatched his pillow from under him and pressed it against his face, muffling his scream of frustration. After he was done, he calmly placed his pillow in his lap and smoothed out the creases.

“We should look for new friends,” he commented, oddly calm and voice monotone. 

Paul nodded. 

They  _ really  _ did. 

****

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_ 3 online _

****

**_20:07_ **

_ Goerge:  _ I still can't believe

_ Goerge:  _ that after that baffling confession

_ Goerge:  _ John just deadass vomited all over Macca

_ Eggboy: _ george its been like ten hours 

_ Eggboy:  _ cant you just let it go already

_ Goerge:  _ 8 hours and twenty minutes, actually, and NO OFC NOT

_ Goerge:  _ the mere THOUGHT sends me in hysterics

_ Macca:  _ he’s literally howling right now

_ Macca:  _ it’s annoying

_ Goerge:  _ shut up it was HILARIOUS

_ Goerge:  _ Paulie just yeeted himself on top of John and went

_ Goerge:  _ he went

_ Goerge:  _  "WILL YOU GO OUT WITH ME"

_ Goerge:  _ and John just,,,

_ Goerge:  _ John just violently spewed the water and advil from like minutes earlier all over him

_ Goerge:  _ the reply one dreams of

_ Macca:  _ yea

_ Macca:  _ it was great

_ Macca:  _ GEO STOP LAUGHING

_ Goerge:  _ NO

_ Eggboy: _ :( sorry

_ Ringo:  _ paul not to be rude,,, but

_ Ringo:  _ you kinda deserved it

_ Goerge:  _ YEA

_ Macca:  _ … maybe kinda?

_ Eggboy _ : id like yall to know that that was not my reaction to being asked out but because paulie was leaning on my stomach and i was just very shocked

_ Eggboy:  _ so he kinda didnt deserve that

_ Goerge:  _ you just say that bc you love him and love has made you soft

_ Eggboy:  _ MAYBE SO

_ Macca:  _ awww you love me

_ Eggboy:  _ … yes??

_ Eggboy:  _ thought we already established that

_ Eggboy:  _ like three years ago

_ Macca:  _ oh

_ Macca:  _ we did??

_ Goerge:  _ underage drinking is FUN

_ Goerge:  _ a lot of tea spills when intoxicated

_ Goerge:  _ aka you, Paulie, told us you loved us dearly

_ Macca:  _ I cannot recall that

_ Eggboy:  _ I'm not surprised

_ Macca:  _ why????

_ Goerge:  _ Paulie, sweetheart

_ Goerge:  _ love

_ Goerge:  _ treasure

_ Macca:  _ … Geo

_ Goerge:  _ John and I said we loved you too

_ Goerge:  _ and you replied "toit" and promptly passed out

_ Goerge:  _ which was both hilarious and concerning as you hadn't even had that much

_ Macca:  _ ah

_ Eggboy:  _ disclaimer: i did Not freak out

_ Ringo:  _ as he usually does

_ Eggboy:  _ as i was still in my "i dont care about anythin" phase

_ Eggboy:  _ shush richard.

_ Ringo:  _ <3

_ Eggboy:  _ <3

_ Macca:  _ John love

_ Eggboy:  _ that me!

_ Macca:  _ you freaked out before that bc I hadn’t had dinner yet and then tried to feed me your chippies

_ Goerge:  _ yea and then I ate them all so you didn’t eat either way

_ Goerge:  _ which explains why you passed out after four beers!!

_ Goerge:  _ huh

_ Goerge:  _ the more you know

_ Ringo:  _ wait how did jawn react then if he didn’t panic

_ Macca:  _ eheheheh “jawn”

_ Eggboy:  _ i… don’t remember??

_ Eggboy:  _ also why the fuck am i jawn

_ Goerge:  _ because you’re bORING

_ Eggboy:  _ george I will bloody choke you

_ Goerge:  _ hm

_ Goerge:  _ into it ;)

_ Ringo:  _ HHHHHHH

_ Eggboy:  _ n O

_ Goerge:  _ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

_ Eggboy:  _ :[

_ Goerge:  _ tough love

_ Goerge:  _ anyway from what I remember you petted macca’s hair and said “sleep is good” while nodding

_ Macca:  _ that sounds exactly like drunk John and I believe this wholeheartedly

_ Macca:  _ he’s got like this phase between pleasantly tipsy and drunk arsehole and that’s just adorable wasted man

_ Eggboy: _ i am NOT adorable

_ Ringo:  _ yes you are!!

_ Goerge:  _ y e s

_ Goerge:  _ little baby boy uwu

_ Eggboy:  _ gEORGE

_ Ringo:  _ uwu!! ^^

_ Eggboy:  _ paulie pls

_ Macca:  _ … uwu :)

_ Eggboy:  _ i have been Betrayed

_ Goerge:  _ go puke on paul sweetheart

_ Macca:  _ would prefer it if I were Not to be included in John’s punishments, thanks!

_ Goerge:  _ I mean like it’s also punishment for you

_ Goerge:  _ two birds with one stone

_ Macca:  _ how????? What’d I do???

_ Goerge:  _ you finished my marmalade.

_ Macca:  _ i-

**_ Goerge:  _ get FUCKED, villain.   
** ****  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm hella busy with deadlines for uni and probably won't be able to upload in quite some time(unless i procrastinate… then maybe) so here is 4.7K+ to make up for the last wait and the wait that is coming up! Someone said in the last comments that pining is finally over...  
> bold of you to assume I won't incorporate that into their actual relationship. HAHAH.   
> Ahem. Anyway, I really hope you enjoyed!  
> xxx  
> Miffy


	21. room? room.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> STUpid: john honestly what did you expect of me? just talking about myself for over an hour? psh  
> Eggboy: honestly? thats exactly what i expected
> 
> **  
> paul gets spring-cleaning urges. ringo is disgusted by their radiator. john is troubled. stuart makes an appearance through text. george interrupts people again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am! I've still got one deadline left, but I just really wanted to upload again. Thank you for being patient these past two weeks, but this chapter has 5.3k words(which is,,, a lot longer than the usual chapters of this fic) and I do sincerely hope you enjoy.  
> It might take a while until I upload again, it might not, but who knows :)  
> Unedited, as always.

**_09:46_ **

Ringo should’ve _known._

He should’ve fuckin’ _known._

He should’ve _recognised_ that bloody _smug-as-shite_ glimmer in Paulie’s eye after he’d mentioned that he had the day off on Tuesday. He should’ve _stopped_ John from announcing that he, too, was completely free of any uni-obligations - and he should’ve _prevented_ Geo from mumbling a _‘same’_ through a mouthful of veggie crisps he’d bought the day before as some sort of healthy snack.

Because Paul, believe it or not, wanted to _clean._

It was this thing he had, y’know, that started usually somewhere in late spring. Paul got _annoying,_ then, like there was this itch he couldn’t scratch but was aching to and was nagging his _absolute-best-friends-in-the-whole-wide-world-honest-Ritchie_ to relieve him of. He’d jump up from his designated sofa crease where he’d been hibernating through winter and the majority of spring and then start pacing in place until he’d completely worn down the shiny top layer of gloss of their cheap laminate flooring. He’d do stuff _randomly,_ like organising and reorganising and re-reorganising their records and cd’s and DVD's and blu-rays until they’d been sorted by age, quality, colour, and alphabet respectively, or like organising their mug-cupboard by _‘when-the-fuck-did-we-buy-this-one-Geo’-‘Christ-why-the-fuck-would-I-know-Paul’,_ or like organising _all_ of their bloody _socks_ also by colour, or like organising John’s absolute _mess_ of a desk by _‘where-in-the-name-of-FUCK-did-ya-leave-me-phone-charger-McCartney’,_ or like organising all of their fuckin’ TEA by honest-to-God _TASTE._ He’d also screech at them until they rolled out of bed at ungodly times in the morning during their _days off_ so that they could scrub their bloody apartment until it fuckin’ _sparkled_ and act like a dictator all the while, because _‘no John you gotta vacuum that bit first’_ or _‘Ritchie please you don’t use that kind of cleanser on leather’_ or _‘gEORGE HARRISON ARE YOU USING BLEACH ON_ MY _TILES???’_. It was terrible, it was _annoying,_ and Ringo _actually kind of hated it,_ but it just happened and he loved Paul so he had to live with it.

Yes.

He _loved_ Paul.

He really, really, _really_ loved Paul.

He really did.

_Really…!_

-is what Ringo kept repeating to himself mentally like a fuckin’ mantra ever since he’d been demanded to clean their _bloody_ heater at seven in the _bloody_ mornin’. It was now nearing ten and he _still_ wasn’t done scrubbing the godforsaken thing that apparently hadn’t been cleaned in fuckin’ _years._

Or maybe just a year, maybe, because he was in this exact same position last year and because he vaguely recalled Macca, or Geo, or _Stu_ spilling their rum ‘n coke all over the radiator a rough six months back, during a party he didn’t remember throwing. The hazy memory popped back into his head while he furiously rubbed over a _suspiciously_ dark and sticky and _drippy_ stain with the cleaning rag Paul had oh-so-graciously yeeted in his face a couple of hours ago. Why nobody cleaned it up then, he hadn’t a clue, but now it was there and dried and sugary and baked onto the radiator after months of continuous heat and Ringo was doing his utmost best at trying to get it to leave the painted metal.

“Hey, Ritch,”

John’s voice shook him out of his misery. Or reverie. Honestly, Ringo counted it as the same thing at this point.

“Johnny,” he acknowledged, and he scrubbed a little harder at the stain. Why wouldn’t it budge??? “What’s up?”

John produced a long, _suffering_ sigh, one of those sighs that George had patented but reluctantly allowed his friends to use, and collapsed on the sofa. Then he moaned as if he were in pain, or getting his dick sucked.

Or both. Some people liked to use teeth, for some reason.

Ringo shuddered, inhaled sharply, and continued to scrub.

“That doesn’t sound good, mate,” he muttered, glancing briefly at John. Or rather, his foot. The lad was lying on the sofa with his feet dangling over the armrest (like a bITCH), almost sticking his toes up Ringo’s fuckin’ nostrils. “What’s wrong?”

John sighed again, deeply and suffering, like Ringo’s mam when she caught him sneaking out or in when he was a teenager.

“Well?”

“He asked me out, y’know?” John said all of a sudden.

Ringo’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “John love,” he said slowly, turning his head a little and ignoring the way John’s big toe poked his cheekbone, “‘m pretty sure we’ve _had_ this conversation already.”

“No, but I mean like, _after tha’.”_ John sat up a little, swung his legs(almost kicking Ringo in the face, who shot back as soon as a foot flew past his face), and leaned back on his elbows. “Just before you two caught him sittin’ on me. He asked me out, then.”

“Oh?”

John started chewing on his lip. “And I said yes.”

 _“Oh?”_ Ringo repeated, even though he’d gathered that already from the way the two had been eye-fucking each other since (AND DURING) that beautiful, hungover Sunday.

 _“Yes,”_ John said, sounding a little strangled, “and we haven’t spoken ‘bout it since.”

There was a brief moment of silence. Then:

_“Oh??”_

“Is that all ye ‘ave to say?” John sat up a little more, scowling. “ _‘Oh’?_ Is it not worth more words?”

“What do ye want me to say?” his voice cracked on that last word, and he scowled at John’s little smirk. “Well? Do you want me to say that it’s cool? Or, or a pity?”

John blinked. “Well, I’d ehm-” he coughed, “I reckon some advice'd be nice, like,”

Ringo ducked towards the radiator and scratched at a some of the splattered probably-cola-maybe-something-else on the metal. It flaked off, and he pulled a face. “I’m not a fuckin’ relationship-guru, John," he muttered, observing the stuff that had gotten under his fingernail, "I'm single, remember?”

“You dated Mo for four years?”

“But it _ended,_ didn’t it?” Ringo pointed out, ignoring the sour taste in his mouth. Maureen had been _lovely,_ really. She’d been his high school sweetheart, a girl with a beautiful smile and a great sense of humour and a sharp wit, but he’d fallen out of love with her a year before he broke it off. When she one hot summer day softly admitted she’d cheated on him(with _George_ of all people, though, granted, he’d known about it the minute after it’d happened as Geo was terrible at keeping secrets he felt bad about), he’d felt oddly relieved; he hadn’t realised he’d been looking for a reason to end their relationship until they both nodded in agreement that the romance was completely gone and not worth saving, even if it’d been four lovely years.

“Anyway,” he drawled, and he glanced at his troubled friend, “I’ve got no clue what kind of advice you want anyway.”

“I want-” John paused, groaning, “I jus’ want to go on an actual date with ‘im. Set a day, a time, a place, all that shite.”

Ringo contemplated soaking the stain with a wet cloth first before continuing to scrub. “Is that what you want?” he asked, casually throwing the rag into the small bucket of soapy water next to him, before lifting it out and squeezing some of the excess out.

“Well I fuckin’ _said it,_ didn’t I- _waddafACK RICHARD-”_

 _“Talk to ‘im,”_ Ringo stressed, glaring at John as soon as the boy had pulled the soaked rag from his face and stared back with wide eyes. “Stop complainin’ about ‘im not talkin’ to ye if _you don’t talk either._ Discuss what the fuck you want, alright? _Christ,_ do I have to prompt _everythin’_ you lot do-”

John swallowed audibly, swinging his legs off the armrest and sitting up. He ran a hand through his now damp, limp hair, and shot Ringo a small grin. “Thanks, mate,” he muttered, “I jus’ might do tha’.”

 _“You know it wasn’t meant as a suggestion, more as a demand!”_ Ringo called after John as he left the room. The answer to that was no more than a vague hand gesture, and Ringo rolled his eyes. _Figures._

Now, that stain…

He blinked dumbly at his soapy water.

“LENNON! GIVE ME MY RAG BACK!”

 

**_private chat_ **

_“Eggboy” is online_

_“STUpid” is online_

 

**_14:03_ **

_Eggboy:_ ello there sutcliffe!! how are ya??

 _STUpid:_ lenny my love! i’m doing great!

 _STUpid:_ and how are things for you on this fine afternoon?

 _Eggboy:_ im good, im good

 _Eggboy:_ just finished macca’s yearly cleanin spree

 _Eggboy:_ got a lot of stuff to tell you about bc im stressed and need to tell someone whose names aren’t george or richard

 _STUpid:_ oh?????

 _Eggboy:_ anyway, did astrid change yer chatname again?

 _STUpid:_ …. yes

 _STUpid:_ but i’d like to hear your troubles first

 _Eggboy:_ oh do ye now??

 _STUpid:_ john honestly what did you expect of me? just talking about myself for over an hour? psh

 _Eggboy:_ honestly? thats exactly what i expected

 _STUpid:_ HAHAH shut up

 _Eggboy:_ ;p

 _STUpid:_ :*

 _STUpid:_ but tellllll me what’s up???

 _Eggboy:_ kay

 _Eggboy:_ so ive told you about my revelation from a month or two ago yea?

 _STUpid:_ the realisation that you like penis, yes

 _Eggboy:_ …. yes that

 _Eggboy:_ that thing i yelled a geo at three in the morning while devouring shortbread

 _STUpid:_ yes

 _STUpid:_ i’m still INCREDIBLY jealous about that, just so you know

 _STUpid:_ but do continue

 _Eggboy:_ ,,,,, okay

 _Eggboy:_ and i also told you about pauls… accident?

 _STUpid:_ johnny you’ve called me, crying, at least once a week for the past month or so bc macca got snappy with you or bc you felt guilty that he’d fallen

 _STUpid:_ so yes, yes you have

 _Eggboy:_ oh

 _Eggboy:_ yea

 _Eggboy:_ ha

 _Eggboy:_ sorry bout that

 _STUpid:_ just tell what you wanted me to tell

 _Eggboy:_ a couple of nights ago we decided to hit town for the first time in a month and geo encouraged me to flirt with paul, and i was like “seems fair” so i did my best and all that

 _Eggboy:_ and he didnt really react?? and then he did??? and then he started flirting with a lad who was both taller and more handsome than me so i got sad, yknow

 _Eggboy:_ and then i erm almost drowned meself in booze and geo dragged me back

 _Eggboy:_ apparently i cried

 _Eggboy:_ ive cried a lot these past couple of weeks?? idk whats happening to me

 _STUpid:_ yer soft lad

 _STUpid:_ but continue

 _Eggboy:_ i want to say im not soft but apparently i am

 _Eggboy:_ and the next mornin i woke up to him jumpin on top of me and yelling whether i wanted to go out with him

 _STUpid:_ john oh my god

 _STUpid:_ and??? please tell me you said yes???

 _Eggboy:_ …. not exactly

 _STUpid:_ jOHN

 _Eggboy:_ look i wanted to say yes but i just

 _Eggboy:_ i just threw up all over him

 _STUpid:_ HFNDFHADFAFA im gonna cry

 _Eggboy:_ HE WAS LEANING ON MY STOMACH AND I WAS HEAVILY HUNGOVER

 _Eggboy:_ not entirely my fault

 _Eggboy:_ i felt so bad i cried so thats something

 _STUpid:_ you do cry buckets yea

 _STUpid:_ before this, the last time you cried was, what? when cyn kicked you in the nuts, just after you met paul?

 _Eggboy:_ that was from physical pain

 _Eggboy:_ also, bold of you to assume i dont cry whenever i watch the lion king

 _STUpid:_...you do??

 _Eggboy:_ BIG KITTIES ARE STILL KITTIES STU

 _STUpid:_ sure love, whatever you say

 _Eggboy:_ i hate you

 _STUpid:_ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

 _STUpid:_ tough love

 _Eggboy:_ DAFDAFASDF I STILL DONT KNOW HOW TO DO THAT FACE AND GEO DOES AND HE WONT TELL ME

 _STUpid:_ google it big boi

 _Eggboy:_ hhhhh FINE

 _Eggboy:_ anyway to continue my story

 _Eggboy:_ a couple of hours afterwards he asked me out again and i was shocked but said yes

 _Eggboy:_ and we almost kissed??? but were cruelly interrupted by the disaster twins

 _STUpid:_ george and ringo? i thought you and ringo were the disaster twins?

 _Eggboy:_ no we are, according to martin n eppy, the “nosey boys” which is quite frankly rather rude

 _Eggboy:_ paul and i are thing one and two, geo and i are the grumps?? apparently, also rather rude

 _STUpid:_ and paul&geo and paul&ringo

 _Eggboy:_ eppy calls them the hotties and the cuties respectively

 _STUpid:_ fair

 _STUpid:_ if astrid wasn’t there to have me completely and utterly smitten i’d do geo so incredibly hard

 _Eggboy:_ sTUART

 _STUpid:_ what??? just being honest

 _STUpid:_ that boy is FINE

 _STUpid:_ and i couldn’t do paulie bc you’re like in love with him and he kind of dislikes me?? and i’m less inclined to say i’d do ringo for some reason

 _STUpid:_ too intimidating

 _STUpid:_ but geo is both hot and adorable

 _Eggboy:_ hM

 _STUpid:_ have you SEEN his smile???

 _Eggboy:_ yes i see it multiple times a day

 _STUpid:_ UGH what i’d give to have that privilege

 _Eggboy:_ … 50 euros for a flight back to britain?

 _STUpid:_ bold of you to assume i’d be willing to spend that

 _STUpid:_ ANYWAY

 _STUpid:_ you’re going on a date with paul!!!!!!!!!!!

 _STUpid:_ which is good

 _STUpid:_ AMAZING  in fact

 _STUpid:_ astrid says “finally”

 _Eggboy:_ ,,,,,,,why finally

 _STUpid:_ anyone with eyes can see he was pining after you for a while

 _STUpid:_ and you’ve been babbling to me about the shape of his eyes and mouth ever since ye met

 _STUpid:_ so yeah, finally

 _Eggboy:_ hmpf

 _Eggboy:_ speaking of finally, id finally like to know why youre called “stupid” rn

 _Eggboy:_ not that there’s no accuracy in this but still

 _STUpid:_ …astrid got mad

 _Eggboy:_ what on earth did ye do??

 _STUpid:_ i might have…. almost burned down the kitchen

 _Eggboy:_ oh my god

 _STUpid:_ in my defense, it was seven in the morning and i was hungover

 _STUpid:_ and apparently astrid had put my highly flammable spray paint in the same cupboard as our cooking grease spray

 _Eggboy:_ OH MY GOD

 _STUpid:_ i sprayed it in but the stove was already on so it just went “whoom”

 _Eggboy:_ HHHHHHH

 _Eggboy:_ i cant breathe

 _STUpid:_ it’s nOT FUNNY JOHN

 _STUpid:_ i don’t have any eyelashes left

 _STUpid:_ my eyebrows have practically disappeared

 _STUpid:_ i’ve been filling in what’s left with eyeshadow

 _Eggboy:_ sorry mate but this is obviously hilarious

 _Eggboy:_ im about to piss me pants

 _STUpid:_ god i hate you

 _Eggboy:_ tough love

 _Eggboy:_ and why the fuck do you spray your pans with cooking grease? why not use normal butter or oil from a bottle like the rest of us

 _STUpid:_ we didn’t have any left :( and i wanted egg

 _Eggboy:_ YOU WANTED EGG

 _Eggboy:_ im gonna die, stu

 _Eggboy:_ deceased

 _Eggboy:_ gone

 _STUpid:_ you have no idea how much i hate you rn

 _Eggboy:_ i think i might lmao

 _Eggboy:_ anyway im gonna go

 _STUpid:_ we’ll talk again!!

 _Eggboy:_ hnh yes probably tonight

 _Eggboy:_ ritchie demanded i speak with paul bout everythin

 _Eggboy:_ bc, and i forgot to tell ye this, we havent actually had a one on one conversation since sunday? like sunday night i slept before he did and yesterday he slept before i did so there was no way we were able to talk before havin a kip yknow and in the mornings i was off to college before hed even rolled out of bed

 _Eggboy:_ and whenever we were both home it was the four of us in the kitchen or in the living room

 _STUpid:_ so?

 _Eggboy:_ SO we havent talked about our date yet and i have Anxiety like hwat if he doesnt want to anymore? waht if ive csared him off???

 _STUpid:_ ………

 _STUpid:_ ring boy was right john pls go talk to paul

 _Eggboy:_ fdafadd ring boy im gonna tell him you called him that

 _STUpid:_ john love he’s used to it we whatsapp every other day

 _Eggboy:_ why

 _Eggboy:_ why do i feel oddly betrayed and cheated on??

 _STUpid:_ because you have attachment issues and are as a result oddly protective and possessive of everyone you love and hold dear to your heart?

 _Eggboy:_ :/ ur right

 _Eggboy:_ i should probably see a therapist someday

 _Eggboy:_ anyway thanks luv!! see ya, give astrid a kiss from me yea? xxx

 _STUpid:_ no thanks, see ya, and i might but i’m pretty sure she wouldn’t want one from your stupid face xxxxxx

 _Eggboy:_ but ur giving the kiss?

 _STUpid:_ oh yea lol

 _STUpid:_ but she’s still mad tho

 _Eggboy:_ RIP stu sutcliffe, a great artist with a tiny dick and an affinity for pissing off his girlfriend

 _STUpid:_ shut up and go talk to your future boyfriend

 _Eggboy:_ how can i shut up and talk to him??? that’s like two opposites

 _STUpid:_ DO IT JOHN

 _Eggboy:_ fiiiiiiiine xxx

 _STUpid:_ keep me posted xxxxx

 

**_15:04_ **

John had locked himself inside the bathroom for over an hour now, though he’d spent the first twenty minutes of his _cowardly_ hiding furiously messaging the best friend who wasn’t completely up-to-date on the situation and who _probably_ wasn’t biased.

Or didn’t have a _fucking_ bet going regarding Paul’s and his non-existent romantic relationship.

_Fucking George._

Sadly for John, Stu _was_ biased, because apparently, John had been pining after Paul before even having _entertained_ the thought of him being attracted to the same gender and Stu was actually rather done with the pitiful sight. Understandable.

In hindsight, John pining shortly after meeting Paul did make quite a lot of sense, considering that John had never been exactly, ahem, _happy_ with any type of flirting Paul had done over the years with people that weren’t him (or Stu, or Ringo, or Geo- no, scratch that, Paul flirting with Geo actually did make him insecure at first). It was just fuckin’ _sad,_ honestly.

“Get over it,” he whispered at his reflection harshly. It stubbornly blinked back, a lovestruck expression in its eyes as its thoughts drifted back to Paul. John shook his head. “No. Stop. Don’t be _soft._ You’re a tough, Northern lad who remodelled the entire front yard with yer uncle after a night of drinking, you like gettin’ into bar fights, and you like dark ale. You once ate Geo’s _spiciest_ fried rice without flinching or asking for a glass of milk or asking whether you could get a sandwich like Ritchie. You can _fuckin’_ ask yer best mate if the date’s still on. Just _do it-”_

_“John?”_

Paul’s voice floated through the door, and John’s legs turned into rubber. _Goddammit._

Bracing himself against the sink anxiously, he slowly locked gazes with his reflection and noticed he looked rather flustered. He swallowed harshly and tried to will his raging heartbeat to calm itself.

Paul knocked, now. _“John? You in there, mate? I heard someone talkin’, are you calling Stu?”_

John shook his head to shake himself out of this _silly_ anxiety. “Be a _man,_ Lennon,” he muttered to himself, before taking a deep breath and raising his voice. “Yes love, just hung up. What is it?”

 _“Oh.”_ There was a pause, and by the tone of Paul’s voice, John imagined he was fidgeting as if he were nervous. _“I just wanted to check up on ye. Took quite a while, you see.”_

He sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, heart thundering in his chest. “Yeah, I did. Sorry ‘bout tha’.”

_“No worries!”_

There was another pause. John, who’d been staring at his own reflection wide-eyed, kind of expected that Paul had gone and went to annoy Geo or something, so he jumped again when Paul spoke up.

 _“Can I…”_ Paul audibly swallowed, _“can I come in?”_

“Do ye want to?” he squeaked out.

_“...yes?”_

John reached out to unlock the door. As soon as the soft _click_ resonated through the tiled space, the door was slowly pushed open, and Paul slid inside.

John took one look at him and braced himself a little bit more against the sink.

He looked awfully pretty like that. Dressed in his _leisure wear_ (a term that now not only Ritchie but also _Geo_ had started to push upon them), Paul looked unfairly attractive. He was wearing a shirt that John instantly recognised as the shirt he used to wear playing sports at Calderstones*; the black-and-yellow emblem on the chest had been faded by the numerous washes the shirt went through, and John now mainly used it for cleaning, dirty work, or painting. It had a hole in the right armpit and was covered in oil paint and bleach stains, but it was comfortable enough. He was also wearing a pair of gym shorts John _also_ recognised as his, because apparently, Paul enjoyed nicking his clothes.

And apparently, Paul looked very attractive in John’s clothes.

And  _apparently,_ John found that very unfair, because he felt Paul looked more attractive in John’s clothes than John did.

…

But Paul should wear John’s clothes more.

Just as he’d realised he’d been owlishly blinking at Paul’s for about a minute now, Paul gently smiled at him and he had to lean on the sink a little heavier again. _Fuck,_ that arse was attractive.

_Paul also had a very attractive arse-_

“I wanted to talk about something,” Paul said quietly, interrupting John’s rather drooling train of thought by immediately inducing anxiety deep within him(as if it hadn’t been there BEFORE). “About us, I mean.”

“Sure,” John said, sounding awfully calm for someone who was internally screeching like aunt Mimi after realising uncle George and John had accidentally demolished her favourite flower bed while remodelling the back garden.

There was a small, relieved smile. “Okay, cool.” He paused, as if waiting for John to say something, and shook his head when John raised his eyebrows questioningly. “Alright, here goes- _we like each other, right?”_

John swallowed. “Of course?”

“I mean like-like,” Paul stated, “y’know? Like-like.”

A sharp inhale. “What’re ye gettin’ at, McCartney?” John said, cursing mentally when the unintentional sharpness of his tone made Paul flinch a little. He pushed himself away from the sink shakily and took a step closer to Paul, murmuring a sorry.

Paul shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said softly, and he shot John another smile, before his gaze darted to anywhere but him. “But, what I wanted to ask was… do you… still want to have that date?”

John sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about,” he muttered, sheepishly smiling at Paul’s surprised gaze. “Was kind of avoidin’ ye, to be honest, hence the locked door.”

“That doesn’t sound too good-”

“It’s because I’m scared that you don’t wanna go anymore and I didn’t want to feel like shite just yet,” John blurted, realising he might as well be upfront about his feelings. “I mean- we kind of didn’t discuss anythin’, and then we didn’t talk at all, and then you got into that _spring cleaning mindset_ of yours which honestly makes ye kind of scary, not gonna lie, and-”

Paul cut him off with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He smiled, fondly, and squeezed softly. “I want to go on a date with you,” he murmured, “I still do.”

John sighed in sheer relief. “Thank God,”

“Thank God indeed,” Paul giggled, leaning in a bit closer. His other hand was on John’s other shoulder now, teasing the curls at the nape of John’s neck with his long fingers. He looked awfully sultry, hazel eyes almost hidden behind heavy lids and the tip of his tongue quickly sneaking out to wet his bottom lip. Paul was giving him _The Look,_ John realised with a start, _The Look_ he’d used on countless of lads and lasses and that almost always worked. That _Look,_ meaning he wanted someone badly.

 _John_ got that Look.

He slowly reached out to place his hands Paul’s waist and tug him a little closer, all while hoping _desperately_ he was reading the signs right. Paul smiled suggestively at the action and willingly stepped closer, sliding his hands up to John’s face. His heart was racing at top speed, because _shit,_ was this going to happen? Was this actually going to happen? The thing he’d dreamed about for weeks?

“Hi,” Paul whispered, smiling still, eyes crinkling adorably at the corners.

“Hi,” John breathed back.

Paul leaned in a little closer, and a small grin appeared around his _perfect_ mouth at John’s hitching breath. “Fancy seeing ye here,” he murmured, thumb brushing over John’s jaw, and with a sigh they both leaned in to close the gap, eyes falling closed.

It was soft and hesitant, a gentle touch of lips, almost as if they’d pressed a kiss to the other's forehead in an adoring manner. It was a ghost of a kiss at first, no more than a sigh of mouth touching mouth with a whisper of Paul’s afternoon tea, a hint of a citrusy earl grey on his lips. John's heart raced as it never had before and he couldn't help but gasp silently when they parted. His mouth burned with touch and when he opened his eyes, Paul was staring at him with wide, excited eyes, cheeks a lot rosier than before.

He carefully smiled, and John smiled back rather dumbly. He couldn’t really believe it had happened: it’d been so brief, so gentle, so almost-not-there anyway, that it could’ve been that his mind was playing tricks on him anyway.

But Paul’s gaze was trailing to John’s mouth, and when John bit his lip Paul let out a strangled little sigh. John’s heart jumped at that, and he realised that if he was able to make Paulie frustrated by that action alone, he could probably have a whole lot of fun.

So he bit down his lip again and wetted it a bit with the tip of his tongue. Paul closed his eyes and sighed again before freezing.

John had just started to panic and was ready to sputter out a _myriad_ of apologies when Paul opened his eyes, and John saw _The Look_ again, prompting his panicky train of thought to make a harsh stop. _The Look_ was a positive thing, always had been, and when Paul smiled coyly John knew he was screwed.

He wanted to kiss Paul again, but he knew that Paul would want to prompt this one. At least, that’s what he usually seemed to do with his victims whenever he got _The Look,_ so John was expecting nothing less.

The thing was, though, that Paul was taking an awfully long time to get to it. He just continued to smile coyly, bat his eyelashes and drag his short fingernails down the nape of John’s neck, licking his bottom lip with only the tip of his tongue. It drove John nuts, and he was just about ready to grasp the little shite by the face and initiate it himself, Paul’s little _The Look-_ ritual be arsed.

_But wait._

_HE COULD._

John took one hand from Paul’s waist and placed it gently on his cheek, immediately curling his fingers behind Paul’s jawline and above his ear. He then carefully swiped his thumb across Paul’s plump bottom lip as if he was wiping something away.

He bit down on his lip again. Paul inhaled sharply, eyes wide and pupils large and dark.

John leaned forward slowly, hesitantly, but Paul met him halfway, and then tHEY KISSED.

Properly this time.

It was odd, but Paul’s tiny analogy of that kissing lads felt the same as kissing a bird, was _true._ Paul’s mouth was just as soft, if not _softer,_ than those of most girls he’d kissed. It was like they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, mouths moulding together as if they’d been _made_ to kiss each other. It was bloody _amazing._ He brushed his tongue across Paul's lower lip teasingly, questioningly, and Paul opened his mouth. He produced a deep, guttural moan when their tongues met briefly and Paul _melted_ into his embrace with half of a hot gasp, fingers tangling in the locks at the back of John's head. _‘Christ,’_ John thought through a haze of _Paul, Paul, Paul, ‘if you’re real, thank you._ Lord, _thank you.’_

They stumbled until Paul’s back hit the door of the bathroom and it shut properly with a _click,_ but the both of them paid it no mind. Paul pulled him even _closer,_ if that were even possible, snaking his leg around the back of John’s and thrusting his tongue inside his mouth moaned again, and then Paul moaned, and John brushed the hem of _his_ t-shirt on Paul with one hand and then slid his hand up, brushing his fingers over Paul’s torso, relishing in the feel of soft skin against his calloused fingertips-

Three hard, loud knocks, made them jump apart.

John stumbled back, leaning against the sink again, breathing heavily as if he’d just run a marathon. Paul was panting as well, sprawled against the door and head tilted upwards towards the ceiling. _‘He still looks great,’_ John thought, _‘especially all flustered like this-’_

_“You lot done??”_

Geo, of course. _Of course_ it was Geo. Why wouldn’t it have been? He was the guy who wanted to see them together the most, but was also the guy who _interrupted_ them the most. Terribly sad for him, really, but also for John because he really wanted to kiss Paul more and wait, did this kiss mean he could???

Paul inhaled deeply. “I hate you, Geo,” he informed his oldest best friend, voice hoarse. There was cackling from behind the door.

_“If you’re having sex in there, I just cleaned all of that so I’d rather not have you stink it up by having anal in the shower cubicle.”_

“Geo,” John rasped, “I hate you as well.”

 _“Glad to know!”_ George said cheerfully. _“But Ritchie loves me because I’ve made a late lunch. You two up for eggs ‘n vegetarian bacon?”_

Paul inhaled deeply again, dragging a hand through his hair and looking John straight in the eye. “Are you?”

John’s breathing hitched at the eye contact, but he recognised the beginnings of Paul’s _Look_ again and felt excitement bubble up deep inside of him. “‘m not really hungry for food, really,” he said slowly, shooting Paul a lazy grin and a wink. Paul giggled at that, and there was a disgusted groan from behind the door

 _“Like I said,_ I just cleaned in there. _Go fuck in your room or something, isn’t the bed more comfortable?”_

“Is it?”

 _“Use lube, arseholes,”_ was the last thing George said before the sound of him running down the stairs were heard through the door.

They looked at each other briefly before starting to giggle. The situation might’ve been rather odd, really, them snogging before being interrupted by Geo. Go figure. When the giggly feelings subsided somewhat and they could speak without having to stop to laugh, Paul stepped towards John with a shit-eating grin. “He’s got a point, y’know.”

John blinked. “...using lube?”

“No!” Paul said, before pausing. “Yes. Yes, we should use lube in the future-” John ignored the way his heart jumped with happiness at that, “-but what he said about using the bedroom. It’s much more comfortable in there, y’know.”

John bit his lip and nodded, before stepping forward and rushing out of the bathroom, swivelling around to look Paul in the face.

“Room, then?” he asked casually, making sure to look as mischievous as possible. Paul giggled again, stepping out of the bathroom now as well, and came close enough that John could feel his body heat through his own clothing. His fingers brushed the elastic band of Paul’s _(his)_ shorts before he gently tugged at the hem of Paul’s _(his)_ shirt. Paul grinned, eyes darkening significantly as he wrapped his hand around John’s wrist and tugged him along towards their shared bedroom.

“Room,” he acknowledged, kicking the door open with his foot and dragging John inside, immediately wrapping his arms around John’s neck to attack him with his mouth.

“Y’know,” John gasped when Paul separated from him briefly to pull off his shirt, “we still ‘aven’t discussed our date-”

“Later,” Paul grunted, and pushed him on the bed with a cheeky grin before climbing on top of him, “then we talk. Now this,” and he latched his mouth on the base of John’s neck.

...well, he couldn’t say no to that now, could he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Calderstones School is a school formerly known as Quarry Bank High School for Boys, the school John Lennon attended as a teen in the fifties, so I imagine(as the boys are from Liverpool in this AU) he’d have gone there in the modern era. Whoop.  
> ANYWAY, I really hope you enjoyed!!! Love y'all loads.  
> xxx Miffy
> 
> PS: I've always been bad at writing any kiss scenes(or smut, though that I'm not gonna incorporate that in here, any smut I WILL write will be in a separately uploaded fic as part of the series) so I hope it was somewhat decent!!


	22. the methlabrug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goerge: FIRST OF ALL we didn't get it from a methlab, the test results came back clean  
> Goerge: second of all you're right
> 
> **  
> paul is dramatic and wants a new rug. ringo doesn't. john is understanding (for once). george gives great hugs. the author seriously lets her love for george shine through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back  
> back again  
> it mEEEEEEEE
> 
> okay the last time I updated was??? the 24th of June... and it's the 6th for me now(though it'll probably be listed as the 5th on here) which makes it?? 12 days. oof.  
> (if i've got this wrong please do tell me, my math skills have severely deteriorated every since starting uni so i'm not confident in my calculations)  
> BUT the chapter is here. 4.1k. I hope you enjoy!  
> Unedited as always xxx

**_group chat "INSECT CHILDREN"_ **

_ 4 online _

 

**_12:34_ **

_ Macca:  _ I want a new rug. 

_ Goerge:  _ good afternoon to you too, paul

_ Macca:  _ yeah yeah good afternoon and whatevee

_ Macca:  _ *whatever

_ Macca:  _ but I want a new rug

_ Goerge:  _ whatevee

_ Ringo:  _ whatevee

_ Eggboy:  _ whatevee

_ Macca:  _ die. 

_ Macca:  _ seriously lads, I want a new rug!

_ Ringo:  _ why ?? this one's fine ?? 

_ Macca:  _ no it isn't it's disgusting

_ Ringo:  _ i like it ! 

_ Goerge:  _ yea bc you manage to fish shit out of it like some sort of archeologist 

_ Macca:  _ gROSSS

_ Ringo:  _ okay but get this:

_ Ringo:  _ rugeologist 

_ Eggboy:  _ hhhhhhh

_ Macca:  _ Christ

_ Goerge:  _ honestly sounds like you're just studying me?? 

_ Ringo:  _ who says i haven't ;) 

_ Goerge:  _ gASP 

_ Goerge:  _ ;) 

_ Eggboy:  _ wow

_ Macca:  _ CHRIST 

_ Macca:  _ anyway last tuesday I have spent hours on my knees hoovering that monstrosity

_ Goerge:  _ that wasn’t the only thing you've spent doing on your knees for hours on tuesday

_ Goerge:  _ AM I RIGHT LENNON

_ Eggboy:  _ …… no comment

_ Macca:  _ Geo seriously I am willing to kill you. 

_ Goerge:  _ (づ￣ ³￣)づ

_ Macca:  _ ಠ_ಠ

_ Macca:  _ ̿'̿'\̵͇̿̿\з=( ͠° ͟ʖ ͡°)=ε/̵͇̿̿/'̿̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿ ̿

_ Goerge:  _ ༼ つ ಥ_ಥ ༽つ

_ Eggboy:  _ still have no idea how to do that

_ Ringo:  _ poor u

_ Ringo:  _ (͡ ͡° ͜ つ ͡͡°)

_ Eggboy:  _ :/

_ Eggboy:  _ macca babe pls continue complaining about our rug bitte

_ Macca:  _ alright

_ Macca: _ that rug has become(and aLREADY WAS) the most DISGUSTING thing ever and I want a new one 

_ Macca:  _ and this time like a GENUINE new one 

_ Macca:  _ not one we got second hand from a fucking methlab 

_ Goerge:  _ FIRST OF ALL we didn't get it from a methlab, the test results came back clean 

_ Goerge:  _ second of all you're right

_ Macca:  _ I'M GLAD YOU AGREE WITH ME.

_ Eggboy:  _ :/ 

_ Eggboy:  _ paulie sweetheart 

_ Macca:  _ what?

_ Eggboy:  _ have u been chatting with mimu again 

_ Eggboy:  _ fuck 

_ Ringo:  _ MIMU 

_ Goerge:  _ I'm wheezing 

_ Macca:  _ … so what if I have been chatting with,,,

_ Macca:  _ with Mimu 

_ Goerge:  _ hhhhhhhhhh

_ Eggboy:  _ shes gonna cut me bollocks off if she ever sees this

_ Eggboy:  _ anyroad

_ Eggboy:  _ u never minded the disgusting methlabrug before?? 

_ Macca:  _ I haven't? 

_ Eggboy:  _ no, u havent 

_ Eggboy:  _ when we went to pick it up you u said, and i quote, "love me a good deal" 

_ Ringo:  _ and when we rolled it out on the floor you said "hey it's less disgusting then expected!! that's great !!" 

_ Goerge:  _ “then”

_ Eggboy:  _ “then”

_ Macca:  _ “then”

_ Ringo:  _ god fuckin dammit

_ Ringo:  _ *than

_ Ringo:  _ happy ?

_ Eggboy:  _ im never happy

_ Eggboy:  _ :)

_ Goerge:  _ y’know you should really see a therapist sometime

_ Eggboy:  _ i should huh???

_ Macca:  _ Johnny, babe, you know I love you very much and I would support you through anything including but not limited to searching for and going to a good therapist to talk about all of your issues 

_ Macca:  _ but we were talking about that fuckin’ godawful rug and I’d like to know what Mimi’s got to do with it

_ Eggboy:  _ thank u for ur support

_ Eggboy:  _ anyroad mimi hates the rug 

_ Eggboy:  _ shes expressed her violent hatred towards it every single time she visits and every single time i phone her

_ Eggboy:  _ … and u wanted her number from me 

_ Goerge:  _ ( ಠ ಠ )

_ Goerge:  _ suspicious

_ Eggboy:  _ y e s

_ Eggboy:  _ … that emoji 

_ Eggboy:  _ thAT I STILL DONT KNOW HOW TO DO

_ Eggboy:  _ but suspicious monsieur pollo

_ Ringo:  _ marco paulo

_ Eggboy:  _ MARCO PAULO

_ Goerge:  _ hhhhhhhhhhhh yES 

 

**_Goerge_ ** **changed** **_Macca_ ** **'s name to** **_Marco Paulo_ **

 

_ Marco Paulo:  _ this is your fault  @Eggboy  I'm breaking up with you 

_ Eggboy:  _ wait were we dating already???

_ Marco Paulo:  _ …

_ Goerge:  _ oh  

_ Ringo:  _ this is painful and i think i need a bandaid over my heart

_ Goerge:  _ same

_ Marco Paulo:  _ you know what, no chance now

_ Eggboy:  _ ??? im confused??? 

_ Goerge:  _ you're always confused 

_ Eggboy:  _ its my general state of mind 

_ Ringo:  _ hey that's my line 

_ Eggboy:  _ get a new one then!!! 

_ Ringo:  _ i hope paul bites yer cock off. 

_ Eggboy:  _ bit too kinky for me, mate

_ Eggboy:  _ <3

_ Ringo:  _ <3

_ Eggboy:  _ but anyway paulie did mimi manage to change ur mind about the rug, like? 

_ Marco Paulo:  _ I'm not talking to you. 

_ Eggboy:  _ babe u kind of are right now

_ Marco Paulo:  _ wow.

 

**_Marco Paulo_ ** **left the chat**

 

_ Eggboy:  _ ah, fuck???

_ Ringo:  _ ...oh

_ Goerge:  _ John I think I heard the door to your room slam shut?? 

_ Eggboy:  _ … i heard it too 

_ Ringo:  _ wow he really is gonna bite yer cock off huh

_ Eggboy:  _ nOT THE TIME FOR JOKES RITCH

_ Goerge:  _ what got him so angry anyway?? 

_ Goerge:  _ we're not being any different than usual 

_ Ringo:  _ yeah john is still called eggboy for fucks sake and it was funny 

_ Eggboy:  _ it still kinda is funny 

_ Goerge:  _ yea sometimes I still giggle about it 

_ Ringo:  _ but your sense of humour is cursed 

_ Goerge:  _ valid 

_ Eggboy:  _ … im still worried tho

_ Goerge:  _ also valid

_ Goerge:  _ maybe let him cool off for a bit, yeah? 

_ Ringo:  _ have him calm down and then talk to figure out what's wrong 

_ Ringo:  _ maybe ten or fifteen minutes will be good ?

_ Eggboy:  _ … okay

 

**_12:59_ **

_ Eggboy:  _ ...should i check up on him now?

_Goerge:_ the door is locked, I knocked before and he yelled at me to go away and then called me a "skinny vampire-ass bitch" which is

_ Goerge:  _ y'know 

_ Goerge:  _ fair

_ Eggboy:  _ but he might be less angry at you 

_ Eggboy:  _ i fucked up and i dont even know what i did or how i did it

_ Eggboy:  _ we werent even dating yet and he already broke up with me oh my god i want to die.

_ Eggboy:  _ let the grim take me, please 

_ Eggboy:  _ hades pls just fucking yeet me into the underworld

_ Ringo:  _ john not to assume anything but can you like

_ Ringo:  _ chill

_ Eggboy:  _ no.

_ Ringo:  _ cool !

_ Ringo:  _ but you go knock on the door, he might let ye in

_ Ringo:  _ and in the meantime i’m gonna go ahead and look for a decent therapist for you mkay?

_ Eggboy:  _ i want one with five stars on yelp

_ Goerge:  _ fhdafadfds

_ Ringo:  _ hhhhhh

_ Ringo:  _ i think i may be able to find someone

_ Eggboy:  _ toit

 

**_12:06_ **

_ Eggboy:  _ hes not answering???

_ Goerge:  _ must be asleep then 

_ Goerge:  _ ritch and I are currently watching a movie, wanna join while you wait?

_ Eggboy:  _ im way too freaked out to sIT AND WATCH A MOVIE

_ Goerge:  _ I’m amazed at how much paul manages to make you go from only mentally screaming to actually outwardly screaming in a matter of weeks

_ Ringo:  _ character development !!

_ Eggboy:  _ paul being angry at me stresses me the fuck out

_ Eggboy:  _ cause hes scary when hes angry

_ Eggboy:  _ im gonna go have a smoke

_ Ringo:  _ thought you were cutting back and didn’t have any ??

_ Eggboy:  _ no that was just a ruse to get geo to stop nickin me fags 

_ Goerge:  _ wow, rude

_ Eggboy:  _ well it worked didnt it???

_ Goerge:  _ pfff i hope you choke on yer fag mate

_ Eggboy:  _ okay

_ Ringo:  _ …. 

_ Ringo:  _ omg

_ Goerge:  _ holy shit

_ Ringo:  _ oh it’s bad

_ Eggboy:  _ what? what do u mean?

_ Goerge:  _ you didn’t reply with “kinky” on something that could’ve been taken as sexual 

_ Goerge:  _ means you’re really fuckin stressed

_ Eggboy:  _ WELL YES I AM HARRISON THANK YOU FOR NOTICING

_ Ringo:  _ at least you’re admittin it 

_ Eggboy:  _ im actually shaking a little and i hate it

_ Goerge:  _ also couldn’t slam the front door louder, could ye?

_ Eggboy:  _ sorry sorry sorry

_ Ringo:  _ wow

_ Ringo: _ who are you and what have you done to john ??

_ Eggboy: _ hhhhhhh im gonna yeet meself down the stairs 

_ Goerge:  _ alright alright, let's not do anythin too drastic 

_ Goerge:  _ you go smoke, go breathe, let the nicotine do its work, and like,,,

_ Goerge:  _ not try to rob yourself of your life?

_ Goerge:  _ and when you come inside I'm gonna dump a cuppa down yer throat and send ye upstairs to knock again, alright? 

_ Goerge:  _ and if the door is still locked, well, my sister taught me how to pick one so we'll be fine.

_ Eggboy:  _ ….alright

_ Ringo:  _ i bought cookies yesterday, gonna ram one in yer gob as well 

_ Ringo:  _ baked goods always calm me down

_ Ringo:  _ calms you down as well if i remember correctly

_ Eggboy:  _ hm

_Ringo:_ and like geo said, paul is probably sleepin ??

_ Goerge:  _ yea he does that remember? Frustration tuckers him out 

_ Eggboy:  _ okay good theory absolutely fuckin greatb

_ Goerge:  _ thank you I am indeed a genius

_ Ringo:  _ jesus cheist, george 

_ Goerge:  _ CHEIST 

_ Eggboy:  _ but what if,,,

_ Ringo:  _ can you fack off 

_ Ringo:  _ what if what, john? 

_ Eggboy:  _ what if he jumped out of the window in sheer rage

_ Eggboy:  _ oh god our bedroom is like on the third floor 

_ Eggboy:  _ oh god oh fuck 

_ Eggboy:  _ has anyone checked there outside??? 

_ Eggboy:  _ im gonna go chekc there

_ Goerge:  _ like hell you are

_ Goerge:  _ stay, I’m comin

_ Ringo:  _ john can you stop??

_ Eggboy:  _ im panicking richard how am i going to stop

_ Ringo:  _ if paul had indeed jumped out of the window in "sheer rage", as you oh-so-eloquentky put it, then we would've fuckin heard him go splat wouldn't we’ve? 

_ Eggboy:  _ that does NOT calm me down

_ Eggboy:  _ hnhhhhhhhhhh

_ Ringo:  _ jesus cheist

_ Ringo:  _ FUCK *christ 

_ Ringo:  _ i'm gonna go ahead and put the kettle on 

_ Ringo: _ geo you better have dragged him back inside before i've taken the teabags out of the fuckin cupboard

 

**_13:24_ **

Paul wanted to die.

He'd been lying facedown on the bed for quite some time now, sprawled out like a sad, overgrown excuse for a starfish. He didn’t know how long exactly he'd been lying like that, face firmly pressed into the soft cotton of the pillowcase and fingers clutching the sheets as if he was about to tumble off, but he knew it'd been a  _ while.  _

Because pillow was rather damp. 

Not because of  _ tears,  _ obviously -  _ okay maybe a little -  _ but because he'd been breathing into it for so long. Probably. 

No, it might actually be tears. 

Either way, he wanted to die. 

The past couple of days had been blissful. He'd finally started to notice the way John looked at him, all soft 'n lovey-dovey, and he  _ loved  _ it. It was actually no different than before, but now Paul  _ allowed  _ himself to believe it was not just the way John looked at people he loved platonically. No, it was the way John looked at  _ him  _ and  _ him alone.  _ Like he was in love with Paul. That felt nice. 

They'd decided to ditch their two separate twin-sleepers and just cuddle up together as well, which was as lovely as could be. John enjoyed cuddling him close and snored only a little (something Paul had found unbelievably adorable for years now), and he smelled fuckin'  _ great _ , and sleeping together without, y'know,  _ doing things other than sleeping  _ was so incredibly domestic that it know was Paul's favourite part of the day - apart from hugging John as much as possible, or cuddling with him on the sofa, or snogging him whenever the opportunity arose, or slipping his hand down his pants for a quick tease and pull- 

Wow, okay, cool. That last bit might not be very  _ domestic  _ (though it certainly was a lot of fun), but the point can be made. Either way, Paul had grown incredibly comfortable doing  _ couple _ stuff with John. It was great, because it was all he'd ever wanted to do with John Winston Lennon, born on the 9th of October in Liverpool, but apparently he'd gotten too comfortable too quickly. 

Because he hadn't asked John to be his boyfriend(which sounded so  _ childish,  _ even though the mere thought made him giggle) yet. And he'd  _ forgotten _ he hadn't asked yet, and then had gotten  _ pissy  _ when John confirmed that they were, indeed, not dating yet.

Paul was  _ mortified.  _

Mortified at both his silly anger and his forgetfulness, the ease of how he slipped into a romantic relationship-ish situation with John even if it wasn't official.

Yet.

Maybe. 

Probably not. 

Paul wanted to  _ die.  _

He buried his face a little deeper into his pillow, sighing dramatically and ignoring the burn in his eyes. He'd embarrassed himself again. He'd thrown a tantrum and slammed(and locked) the door of his(and John's) room, thrown himself into his(and John's??) bed in a fit of dramatics like a  _ child.  _ And what had he even been angry about? And at  _ whom?  _

At himself, mostly, and maybe a little at George and Ringo for being… themselves? And at John for speaking the truth? 

_ God,  _ though John liked to joke he played both the guitar and the fool, Paul supposed that today  _ he  _ was the fool instead. James Paul McCartney, a disaster gay/bi/person/genderless blob who played both a shitload of instruments and the fool. Playing the fool, that might be what he was best at. 

"Grim, take me now," he muttered hoarsely, lifting his head from his pillow and squinting at the other pillow on the bed. John's, of course. He lifted one hand from the sheets and grabbed the soft material, dragging it closer and burying his nose into the fabric. It smelled like John, like his aftershave and his shampoo and slightly like the cigarettes he'd been trying to cut, but mainly just  _ John _ and his own special musk. 

The scent in his nose, breathed deep down into his lungs, calmed the pounding in his head and he switched from his starfish position to a more curled up one. Maybe if John was actually here, he’d feel better? But he didn’t feel like getting up and unlocking the door, the mere thought of it exhausting, and thus settled for the calming, familiar scent that had soaked into the pillowcase. 

The lock rattled, then, and as soon as Paul curled up a little more as to drown out the noise the door swung open like a whisper, before the soft sound of socked feet on hardwood reached his ears. 

“Hey,” John muttered. The sudden weight next to him revealed to Paul that he’d crawled onto the bed, and a like-cigarettes-and-tea smelling breath brushed his face. “You okay now?”

Paul sniffed into the pillow, pressing his face deeper into the like John-smelling fabric. He didn’t really want to talk, still way too embarrassed, though he knew it would only be a matter of time before he  _ would  _ speak. John always managed to coax him out of whatever bad mood he was in, somehow. 

A hand tentatively started to run through his hair, and he had to bite back a moan at the feeling. He did, however, sigh, and the smallest of chuckles from John meant that John  _ wasn’t  _ angry with him, even if he’d acted like a bloody spoiled  _ brat  _ with anger issues.

“I do want to date you, y’know,” John muttered, voice low. He apparently shuffled a little closer on the bed, because all of a sudden Paul was pressed against a warm chest. “I was just stating the obvious. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

Paul groaned, now lifting his head from the pillow and rubbing his nose against the cotton of John’s t-shirt. It felt oddly comforting. “I know,” he whispered, noticing John’s surprise by the slightest of tightening of his grip. He reached out play with the him of the shirt, calming down even more when John shivered every time Paul’s fingers brushed the skin above John’s boxers. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Aftershocks of the concussion.”

“Probably,” Paul said softly. “How’d you get in? I locked the door-”

John snorted, effectively interrupting Paul. “I noticed,” he said, twirling a lock of Paul’s hair around his index finger, “I tried to get in before, but you didn’t answer.”

“I didn’t want to,” Paul pressed himself harder against John. “Felt too embarrassed.”

There was a small pause before John spoke again. “We thought you were asleep,” he said, “but tha’ makes more sense actually.” Another pause, a little longer this time. “Geo picked the lock.”

_ “What???”  _

_ Oh my God.  _ Quite bitter, it was, the feeling of pure betrayal. Paul pushed himself away from John harshly, almost tumbling off the twin sleeper in the process, and stared at the cream-coloured door of their bedroom with a nasty grimace. “That  _ bitch,”  _ he fumed, pulling at his hair in obvious distress, “that absolute and utter  _ bitch!  _ GEO, YOU’RE AN INSOLENT  _ WANKSTAIN,  _ YE HEAR?”

A cackle that sounded awfully like one of George’s cackles echoed through the apartment. 

John coughed. 

“He’s  _ never  _ done that for me,” Paul continued. His voice trembled with rage and emotion and he snatched his pillow from his bed to yeet it at the door. It sailed gracefully through the air, its case fluttering as a makeshift, sad excuse for a superhero cape; alas, it did not even reach the door, dropping onto the floor a mere foot from the bed with a dull thud. Could the pillow have been a testament to Paul’s anger? Perhaps, had the pillow actually managed to move a few more inches closer to the door. But it had not, and Paul’s anger, as a stark difference, simmered on. 

_ “God,  _ I hate him!” he seethed,  _ this  _ close to ripping the bedsheets that George always ironed. “I fuckin’  _ hate  _ him. He’s never done that for me, yet he does it for  _ you?” _

A hand landed on his shoulder and very gently massaged the tense muscle; Paul continued to breathe heavily as he blinked at the slightly ajar door.

“Have you two ever had the… opportunity to let ‘im use it?” John asked as calm and quiet as humanly possible. He was obviously cautious of setting off any type of Macca-vulcano, having been the sorry victim of such a natural disaster a couple of times before(the majority having been during the first weeks of Paul’s recovery period), and it appeared his efforts were fruitful. Paul merely huffed at the innocent question and dropped himself back onto the bed, immediately pushing himself flush against John and hooking one leg around his waist. 

“Of course,” he stated bitterly, absentmindedly slipping his hand under John’s shirt and digging his nails into his back. John jumped and chuckled rather awkwardly; Paul did not seem to notice. “Tons of times. One time, when our mams were on one of their little trips to London, we went out drinkin’ and dad ‘ad locked the door. Hadn’t taken me keys with. Asked ‘im, to, y’know, pick the lock so tha’ I needn’t sleep outside. ‘e flat out refused, the bastard. Said he didn’t wanna waste it on  _ silly things _ , as if me not dyin’ of bloody, _ goddamn  _ pneumonia was  _ silly.  _ ‘e just learned it to get laid.”

“And another time?”

Paul scowled into John’s chest. “We went out drinkin’ and I lost the keys of me bike. I had to  _ walk  _ back to my house from the centre - you remember, right? How far?  _ Fuckin’ arsewipe.” _

“He didn’t allow ye to climb on the back of his?”

“He couldn’t’ve,” Paul grumbled, “he didn’t have a bike with ‘im.”

John inhaled sharply, and when Paul leaned back from his chest a little to take a look at him, he was wetting his bottom lip.  _ Oh, God.  _ “Y’know,” John started, not noticing Paul staring at his mouth, “that ‘e might’ve just refused to pick yer lock because he didn’t want to walk home alone? Or that he didn’t want to pick the lock of the door, because he wanted ye to sleep at his place?”

There was a brief moment of silence as Paul mulled over that, headache intensifying as he thought. “Hm,” was then all the sound he made. “Hm.”

_ “Hm _ what?”

“Hm.”

“Y’know, you sound awfully unthankful for me just thinking of excuses for  _ George,” _ John pouted, “I  _ never  _ do shit like that. If even  _ I  _ think that, then it  _ must  _ be true.”

Paul lifted his hand and rested it on John’s cheek, stroking the slightly stubbly skin with his thumb. “Yes,  _ or…” _

“Or?”

_ “Or  _ you just have an awful lot of imagination.” Paul narrowed his eyes playfully, feeling his heart jump as John rolled his own with a fond smile. John could be right, of course. Geo refused to help him pick locks whenever he was home alone, or had to walk back alone, or had to do  _ anything  _ by himself while he could use some company. It made sense, in hindsight, and that made Paul actually feel a little warmer than just now. George had probably refused to show off his lock-picking skills because he wanted to  _ spend time  _ with Paul, and-

_ Oh, Geo- _

Paul produced a sad cry and proceeded to bury his face back into (a shocked) John’s shirt, sobbing embarrassingly while John carefully carrassed the back of Paul’s head.

“Are you okay-”

“I’d still marry him,” Paul whimpered, gripping the hem of John’s shirt tightly in his fists, “if I didn’t have you, I’d marry him in a  _ fuckin’ _ heartbeat-”

“Well don’t make me  _ jealous.”  _ John laughed a little awkwardly, sitting up a little more and pulling Paul’s face from his shirt, “not exactly the best thing to say to your future boyfriend.”

Another fat tear made its way down Paul’s cheek, and Paul smiled. “I love you, Johnny,” he said softly, “you always manage to set me head straight.”

“And I love you too.” John carefully wiped the tears from Paul’s face with his thumbs. “And I’m pretty sure you do the exact same to me.”

“We’re both messes,” Paul sniffed loudly and let out a laugh, still a little embarrassed.  _ “God,  _ I’m such a brat.”

John shook his head. “Aftershocks of the concussion, huh?”

At that moment, an incredible amount of love filled his body, and Paul couldn’t help but grin brightly. Wiping the last remnants of his teary afternoon from his damp cheeks, he planted a gross kiss on John’s cheek before jumping off the bed. He knew  _ perfectly well  _ what he was going to do now. “Exactly.”

“Where are ye goin’?” John called out when Paul was already halfway across the room, zooming towards the stairs. “Paulie, love? What’re you up to?”

“SPREADING LOVE.”

Paul raced down the stairs like a man on a mission, and he  _ was one.   _ People to the likes of James Bond, sex-symbol spy, and Gravilo Princip, infamous murderer of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, would’ve  _ shuddered  _ in his current presence. He knew what to do, and was going to do it; nobody would stand in his way. 

Not even innocent,  _ innocent  _ Ritchie, who was pushed aside with one dramatic arm movement and who landed rather ungracefully in the basket of freshly folded laundry. Paul didn’t even  _ think  _ of saying sorry as he steamed on and approached his target. 

“Afternoon, Paulie,” his friend/victim shot him a wink before refocusing on folding a pair of  _ someone’s  _ jeans. “Did you sleep off yer downright  _ terrible  _ mood, or did Johnny kiss it off yer face?”

“Oh, Geo,” Paul proclaimed, trying to not get choked up, “you awful bastard, there was no kissing!” and he pulled George into a tight, bone-crushing hug. He reacted immediately: it was one of the things Paul really,  _ really  _ loved about George. Though bony, the guy gave absolute  _ smashing  _ hugs, capable of wrapping a person into his skinny arms and make them feel right at home. In fact, Paul couldn’t resist burying his face in the crook of George’s neck and inhaling deeply. The mixture of his musky aftershave, his spicy soap, and just his own  _ smell  _ brought him right back to long nights in tiny rooms, bent over guitars and new riffs. He squeezed a little harder and answered George’s little giggle with one of his own. 

“So, what was that for?” George asked with a smile when Paul eventually pulled back, “do I just receive hugs from you now? Am I that huggable?”

“Not necessarily,” Paul grumbled, content with giving George the benefit of the doubt. The boy probably had a mere second to look disappointed before Paul grabbed his face with both hands and stared him down. “But, you’ve been my best friend for the longest time, and I love you. A lot.”

George blinked, smile turning into a grin when Paul promptly kissed his nose and pulled him in for another hug.  _ “Oh.” _

“God, Ritchie, film this,” John, who’d apparently made his way down the stairs, gasped, grasping his friend by the wrist and yanking him closer, all while pointing at George and Paul. “Our Georgie is turnin’ red! It’s a bloody  _ miracle!” _

_ “Fuck off, loser,”  _ the youngest of the four sneered with a smile, cheeks still a healthy pink. He flipped John the bird while clutching Paul close. “At least I got a fuckin’ kiss today.”

“I  _ hate  _ you.”

“Tough love, babe,” George replied, and he pressed his mouth against the side of Paul’s head in a brief kiss. “Does this mean you’re not in a  _ mood  _ anymore? You’re okay?”

Paul nodded into his neck. He was smiling, and though it wasn’t visible to the rest, judging by the way George snickered into his ear he could feel the grin. “I’m cool,”

“Cool!” Ringo echoed, relieved. “Does this mean we’re not getting a new rug?”

_ “Like  _ shite  _ we aren’t!” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> paul is a dramatic bitch and john the level-headed one, for once.  
> (with "for once" i mean that they're usually just two dramatic bitches and there's no level-headedness at all)  
> i'll see when i update next! will it be tomorrow? will it be next week? will it be next month??? who knows, certainly not me.  
> xxx
> 
> PS: can u notice goerge is my fav beetle boi


	23. ur gonna lose that,,,, rug?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> author has no words.

**_My dearest boys,_ **

 

I’ve been a good buddy, I suppose. 

A champ really, having lived through many-a day and night, party after party. Toes and fingers alike have been dug through my fibres, cheeks have rubbed me and noses have smelled me. I’ve been sucked clean and scrubbed free of bits, I’ve been tested and prodded, I’ve been rolled up and rolled out, rehomed and restyled. Oh, how the hoover has seen the most intimate parts of me, its mouth freeing me of dust and unnecessary particles; I owe that hoover my life, as it has prevented me from being thrown in the dump after my last owner oh-so-carelessly would let cigarette ash drop onto me. There, sand and dirty gathered over the years I’ve laid on his floor, letting guests walk all over me as if I were some common doormat. 

But you lads, you lads have treated me kindly. 

You, Paul-boy, threw up on me, once; and then you, Geo-kid, cleaned me, running your hand almost soothingly over the threads making up my body after you had finished. This may have been a mere figment of my imagination, of course, but I like to think it was an unconscious act signifying your care for me. And when you, John-lad, spilt your drink on me, the way you yelled out profanities and scrubbed me with a rag and some cleaning solution until the sweet substance had been removed from me made me feel like I belonged. And you, Ring-boy, whenever you decide to sit on the ground, you choose me to sit on. You enjoy searching through my fibres, it seems, and you cleaning me of rubbish and long-lost items could not feel more like an act of love if you tried. 

I have, however, aged. My colour is not as vibrant as it was when I was bought and the threads used to give me my body are not as soft and long as they used to be, years of usage having worn me down. This is why I understand your desire to replace me.

I think it’s time to cross the rainbow bridge. 

My dearest insect boys, your methlabrug is ready. 

Goodnight. 

 

Best, 

_ Rug.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly? i don't know either, man.   
> but it's something??


	24. ur gonna lose that,,,, rug? p.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the bois find the letter. 
> 
>  
> 
> PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE read the end note well.

**_group chat “INSECT CHILDREN”_ **

_3 online_

 

**_16:38_ **

_Goerge:_ …. lads

 _Eggboy:_ wat

 _Goerge:_ did you see it? 

 _Ringo:_ see what ?

 

 **_Goerge_ ** **sent a picture**

 

 _Goerge:_ it’s a fuckin letter??

 _Goerge:_ from the rug????

 _Eggboy:_ …. richard did u write dis

 _Ringo:_ what the fuck ? no ??

 _Eggboy:_ okay paul isnt in the group yet and doesnt want to be yet

 _Eggboy:_ so he’s gonna

 _Ringo:_ gonna what

 _Goerge:_ gonna what

 _Eggboy:_ hi it me

 _Goerge:_ oh hi Paul

 _Eggboy:_ :))) I’m gonna type now :)

 _Eggboy:_ anyway, this is INCREDIBLY rude

 _Goerge:_ how?? 

 _Goerge:_ ANYROAD

 _Goerge:_ it just,,, it has FEELINGS??

 _Goerge:_ actual feelings, and thoughts, and it experiences things???

 _Ringo:_ did i just hear pol yell incoherently ? 

 _Eggboy:_ its me again

 _Eggboy:_ i cannot believe that that thing has an actual BRAIN 

 _Goerge:_ right???

 _Ringo:_ wow now i heard john yell

 _Eggboy:_ it’s me again! 

 _Eggboy:_ the fact that that,,,, that THING only remembers me sicking up all over it and George cleaning it even though I cleaned it HUNDREDS OF TIMES, y’know, (and the fuckin HOOVER gets credit for it) is quite frankly biphobia and I want to sue. 

 _Goerge:_ hhhhhhhhhhhh

 _Ringo:_ no don’t sue !! it has feelings n stuff, right ?

 _Ringo:_ doesn’t that make it a pet technically ???

 _Goerge:_ I-

 _Goerge:_ I guess? 

 _Ringo:_ another screech from paul ??

 _Eggboy:_ real eggboy here again, hi

 _Eggboy:_ and i suppose it is really a pet

 _Ringo:_ john ? is that you yelling ?

 _Goerge:_ love that you keep me updated on who's screaming in our apartment while I'm at the library, Ritchie

 _Ringo:_ :) i'm a nice person

 _Eggboy:_ fake Eggboy here! 

 _Eggboy:_ since it has feelings, I… I guess you could call it a pet then?

 _Ringo:_ cool !

 _Goerge:_ wow.

 _Ringo:_ so that means we’re not gonna get a new rug? 

 _Ringo…_ did i just hear paul scream again?

 

**_16:51_ **

Paul yeeted himself off the bed, throwing John’s phone in his unsuspecting face. Anger and frustration was filling his entire body as he stomped out of his bedroom and approached that of the disaster twins, throwing open the door. The doorknob hit the wall with a satisfying bang, and Ritchie, who’d been casually sprawled out over his twin sleeper, startled so badly he actually fell off his bed. 

“WE”, Paul fumed, tactfully ignoring Ringo’s wide-eyed stare, “ARE _NOT. KEEPING. THAT. RUG.”_

John cackled. 

 

**THE END.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**SIKE.**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO.  
> As this one is getting rather long (ahem,,,, 60k+ words) and it sort of makes me uncomfortable??? I’ve decided to create an extra story. [Lil’ Help Too,](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19849792/chapters/47005585) if you will. Click on the link to access the fic! It already has one chapter, chapter 25 - or chapter one, now. 
> 
> xxx 
> 
> Miffy

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this absolute mess!! If you want to read more of this shitshow, leave kudos or a comment! I might update without them anyway lol, but still. Love the encouragement.  
> I'm always up for a little convo on my tumblr, blobfishmiffy! (terribly sorry can't figure out for the life of me how links work)  
> please do, I don't bite! :)  
> hope you enjoyed!!  
> xx


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